


All I Want is The Taste That Your Lips Allow

by ionsquare



Category: Spaced, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Blow Jobs, Bottom Derek Hale, Derek Hale/Jennifer (past), Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Minor Cora Hale/Isaac Lahey, Minor Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes, POV Alternating, Physical Abuse, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2017-12-30 22:40:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ionsquare/pseuds/ionsquare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t supposed to go this far. Derek never thought in pretending to be in a relationship with Stiles Stilinski that he’d actually fall in love with him. In the beginning it was so simple, all the pretending, but slowly, things began to unravel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Want is The Taste That Your Lips Allow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SuperfluousEmi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperfluousEmi/gifts).



> Just to clarify: Derek/Jennifer (past) is tagged to make aware of their past relationship. All other relationships are tagged as 'minor' because they're in the background, but I still wanted to have them tagged. There's a slight mention of Stiles/OMC, but it's no big deal, and doesn't add/subtract from the story. 
> 
> **ETA Nov. 16:** More in the end notes about the physical abuse tag.
> 
> To SuperfluousEmi: I certainly hope you enjoy this, because I had so much fun writing it! I really latched onto the fake/pretend relationship trope since I've been wanting to write that for awhile. I tried to include as many of your kinks/tropes as I could: frottage, bottom!Derek, long makeouts, slow burn, angst & fluff, love confession/realization. They fit rather nicely in the fic. :) 
> 
> Many, _many_ thanks to my champion betas: Jo, Mel, and Lauren. This fic wouldn't sound half as good as it does without your incredible editing/input. I owe you all so much.  <3 And to all my friends who cheered me on throughout this whole thing and kept me sane, thank you!

It wasn’t supposed to go this far. Derek never thought in pretending to be in a relationship with Stiles Stilinski that he’d _actually_ fall in love with him. In the beginning it was so simple, all the pretending, but slowly, things began to unravel. All the feelings Derek tried to bury down deep kept creeping back to the surface.

Derek is not a jealous person; he just has a hard time expressing himself sometimes, especially in Stiles’ presence.

And then he walks into the apartment he shares with Stiles, and he’s kissing someone else that isn’t him. But all of the kisses, amongst other things, he’s shared with Stiles have been fake, right? No reason to be angry, he thinks, stepping back out into the hallway.

“Derek! Derek, wait!” Stiles yells, catching up with him, grabbing Derek’s arm.

Derek stops, eyes closing.

“I’m staying at Boyd’s tonight.”

“Don’t… Let me explain, Derek.”

“It’s fine, Stiles,” Derek says, pulling out of Stiles’ grip. “I mean, we both know this, us, it’s all a ruse.”

Stiles’ face crumples at that, and Derek thinks it’s hilarious that Stiles has the audacity to look hurt.

“You’ll come back, tomorrow. To talk. Tell me you’ll come back.”

“Sure, tomorrow.”

*

**Three months ago…**

“Why is it so hard to find an affordable place to live?” Derek growls, scratching out another apartment ad.

Boyd takes a peek at the newspaper Derek has systematically destroyed with giant X’s and question marks; there’s one ad Derek has blacked out entirely.

“What was wrong with this one?” Boyd points his fork at the one blacked out.

“It’s the ad for mine and Jennifer’s old place.”

“Harsh,” Boyd says, stabbing his scrambled eggs. “You doin’ okay with that?”

Derek shrugs because he doesn’t want to talk about it. It was a hard breakup, and after a two-year relationship with someone he thought he could see himself making a life with, Derek still finds it difficult to even think about someone, or another couple, living there in his memories of Jennifer.

“Have you talked to her at all?” Boyd asks, pushing his plate away.

“And say what, exactly?” Derek rips a hole in the paper, cursing silently. “Sorry I wasn’t what you wanted? Sorry I wasn’t enough for you?”

_What are we doing, Derek? Are you happy, with me? With us? Look me in the face and tell me that you’re honestly happy with us._

“Neither of you were happy in the end, Derek,” Boyd says, playing devil’s advocate. “I think you guys were, at first, but something changed. That’s not a bad thing, but what changed, Derek?”

It was an email, among other things.

Stiles Stilinski had emailed Derek, and suddenly, Derek was smiling for different reasons. Derek felt like he was cheating, but it wasn’t cheating at all, and he didn’t even email Stiles back. But it felt wrong to be smiling at an email from someone he hadn’t seen in nearly four years.

The email talked about graduating college, about Stiles being uncertain about his future, and taking a page out of Derek Hale’s book he’d decided to go on a walkabout in Europe. The last part of the email gripped Derek’s attention the most: _I’ll be back in Beacon Hills in a month. I can’t wait to see everyone, it’s been so long! Maybe me and you can… get lunch or something? Go to a batting cage?_

Next week is the end of the month, and Derek is actually nervous about it.

“At least you and Jennifer ended things civilly,” Boyd’s words breaking the fog in Derek’s mind.

Derek nods noncommittally, scratching the back of his neck. He remembers their stilted goodbyes, the lingering hug and the fruity smell of her perfume, and the soft kiss she left on his cheek. _“I did love you, Derek,”_ Jennifer had said. Derek held her tighter, because he had loved her too.

“Civilly, yeah,” Derek’s words slow down as he scans an ad at the bottom of the page. “Attractive two bedroom in historic district,” Derek reads aloud, “spacious, kitchen, two bath -- this place isn’t far from work.” Derek smiles widely at Boyd. “This is exactly what I’ve been looking for!”

“How much is it?”

Derek skims and nods in agreement at the ad.

“$550 a month. I can manage that, I think.”

“You better start looking for a roommate,” Boyd laughs. “You don’t make enough at the shop to justify that price.”

Derek grumbles, suddenly remembering his fruit salad, and there’s a strawberry halfway to his mouth when his fork clatters in the bowl.

“What? Is there something in your food?”

“Professional couple only,” Derek says hoarsely.

“What the hell is a professional--oh. Oh. Well, shit.”

Derek stares at the paper. He wants this place, he needs this place mostly because he still feels guilty for overstaying his welcome at Boyd’s place. Not that Boyd would ever throw him out; still though, Derek needs his own space.

It hits him, and there’s a plan forming, and Derek’s pretty sure it’s the worst idea ever.

He just hopes Stiles doesn’t mind pretending to be a couple for the sake of a shared living space.

Yep, he’s totally fucked.

*

Stiles’ return to Beacon Hills is, well, less than celebratory. The biggest difference is that most of his friends have moved on to bigger and better things. For instance, Lydia completing her PhD in mathematics and going on to, Stiles thinks, researching and theorizing her own shiny, brand new algorithm. Basically, Lydia’s doing that and Stiles is -- Stiles is still not sure what he’s doing.

His degree still isn’t framed and it’s slowly collecting dust. Stiles thought after studying and busting his ass for four years to earn (and he _earned it_ ) his degree in criminal justice and criminal theory, that it’d be satisfying, but when he walked across the stage on graduation day, looked out into the crowd at his dad smiling proudly, it hit Stiles right then and there--

“This isn’t what I want,” Stiles croaked.

“What are you talking about?” his dad asked, looking crestfallen.

“I need…” Stiles felt like he was choking, tugging free his tie. “Dad, I need to go somewhere.”

“Where do you need to go? Back to your dorm?”

Suddenly, Stiles thought about Derek Hale, how after everything he’d gone through in Beacon Hills, he just grabbed a bag and got out. He didn’t think twice, and Stiles isn’t going to do that here and now.

And in that moment Stiles decided to go to Europe.

Seven months later, he’s back in Beacon Hills, back in his old bedroom, staring at old posters of bands he listened to twice, anime characters he thought he related to, and a bed that he’s too tall for now.

“It’s weird that I left it the same, right?” his dad asks from the doorway.

Stiles looks over his shoulder and then back to the bed.

“Not really, well, sort of. I guess you needed something familiar--”

“Comfortable,” his dad finishes, smiling.

Stiles smiles, nodding to himself. His back pocket starts buzzing and when he looks at the screen it’s a text from Scott: _I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU MAN!!!!!! Pizza @ Benny’s w/ me and Alli?_

“Lemme guess, pizza at Benny’s, right?”

Stiles blinks at his dad.

“How do you do that?”

The sheriff smirks indulgently. “We all have our secrets, son.” He claps his hands together, clearing his throat. “I’m going to let you settle in. It’s… It’s good to have you back, Stiles.”

Stiles still isn’t sure if it’s good to be back, and there’s something still niggling at the back of his mind that has something to do with someone tall, dark, and handsome. He’s not that shocked Derek didn’t email him back, and honestly, his only association with Derek was spending days and sometimes nights studying with his sister, Cora. But during Stiles’ senior year, Derek started to open up to Stiles a little more, and instead of acknowledging him as A Pain in My Ass, he would call Stiles by name, laugh at Stiles’ idiotic jokes, and swap baseball rage with him.

Derek was twenty-two while Stiles was seventeen, but age was only anything but a number, and Stiles felt that they had formed a bit of a bond. And then Stiles had gone off to college. The jokes stopped, there were no more discussions in the Hale kitchen about the Mets or the Dodgers, and frankly, Stiles _missed that_. He _missed_ Derek. It was the end of Stiles’ freshman year when Derek packed up and left Beacon Hills, Cora calling Stiles, who was a little hurt and confused. After the tragic fire in their sophomore year in high school, the only people Cora had left in her family were Derek and their mom, and then Derek left.

Stiles, now, understands why Derek did it. Sometimes you need to be somewhere else than the place where you’re needed the most. Sometimes, you just need a break. Which is why before returning to Beacon Hills, Stiles casually asked Cora for Derek’s email address.

“Why do you want it?”

“I can’t email your brother?”

“We both know what this is about.”

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Cora snorted into the phone. “Sure you don’t.”

“What the hell does that -- Jesus, Cora, just give me his email.”

Derek never emailed back, which was fine, Stiles didn’t expect them to have a lot of correspondences, but Stiles needed, wanted, _something_. He’s about to check his email app again when a bright red 1 pops up. Stiles almost drops his phone in an attempt to tap the app open, and to his complete and utter shock there’s an email from Derek--

_I know you’re back in town, welcome back, by the way. It’s been, well, it’s been a long time, Stiles. The last time I saw you you were a freshman in college, and the last time you saw me I was leaving BH. I don’t know how to say this in an email, so how about we have dinner? Let me know when you’re free. I work M-F and have weekends off, but I do get off work most days at 6, if the shop isn’t too busy._

_We have a lot of catching up to do._

_Here’s my number if you’d rather call instead - 562.7112_

_\- Derek_

Against his better judgment, Stiles quickly taps in the number, and Derek picks up on the fourth ring.

“This is Derek.”

Stiles hangs up. “Holy shit,” he whispers, hands shaking. Derek sounds nothing like he did when he was twenty-two, and Stiles is barely done processing that before his phone’s ringing.

“Hel--Hello?”

“Who is this and why did you hang up?”

“Derek? Derek, it’s, um. It’s Stiles.”

“Holy shit,” Derek murmurs. “Stiles? Stiles. Wow, uh, hi. Hi, Stiles.”

“Hi, Derek,” Stiles swallows. “This isn’t awkward at all.”

Derek laughs nervously. “Good way to break the ice. So you got my email, I gather?”

“You gather… right,” Stiles cringes at himself. “I have plans tonight but I’m free tomorrow night, as far as I know. Unless, you know…”

“Unless…?” Derek says patiently.

“God, you still fucking do that? You know exactly what I’m talking about, but you still fucking make me fish for it.” Stiles clamps his mouth shut, smacking his forehead. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“I was only trying to be clear on what you meant, Stiles. But please, tell me how you really feel.”

“Will you have dinner with me tomorrow?” Stiles asks hopefully.

“I don’t know if I want to have dinner with an obnoxious asshole,” Derek chides, sounding as though he’s smirking. “You’re still a pain in my ass, and still running your mouth off.”

“Don’t make me beg.”

“Fine, fine,” Derek concedes. “How about we meet at the diner on 5th, say around, 6:30?”

“The diner, oh! Minnie’s. Yeah, yeah that’s perfect. It’s a date.” Stiles immediately regrets it when he says it, sucking in a breath and holding it. Derek is suspiciously silent which doesn’t quell Stiles’ nerves any less.

“I’ll… see you tomorrow, Stiles,” Derek says quietly, hanging up.

Stiles smacks his phone against his forehead.

He’s totally fucked.

*

“You’re not fucked, I mean, unless you guys end up… fucking?”

Stiles groans, tossing pizza crust at Scott, who of course catches and eats it.

“That’s so gross, Scott!” Allison glances quickly at Stiles. “Not you and Derek, my boyfriend eating chewed on pizza crust.”

Scott mumbles with a full mouth until he swallows.

“You and Derek always kind of… I don’t know. The age difference wasn’t really anything because you got along really well with him,” Scott says.

“We all got along with Derek, Scott,” Stiles grouses, shoving more pizza in his mouth.

“Only when we had to--ow! What?!” Scott glares at Allison then looks back at Stiles. “My point is, don’t make a big deal out of dinner. It’s just dinner, dude.”

“I hate to agree, but Scott’s right, Stiles.” Allison smiles encouragingly. “And I hate to break it to you, but -- we already knew. About you and Derek.”

Stiles pales, sweat beading on the back of his neck.

“Come again?”

“Cora called me because she had to tell me about you asking for Derek’s email,” Allison provides, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “But again, we already knew.”

There’s that assumption again, and Stiles really has no idea what’s going on. He and Derek are barely acquaintances anymore, and yes, there was a time when Stiles thought he could call Derek a friend, but times have changed. And he just asked for a stupid email address.

“I have no idea who he even is anymore,” Stiles sighs, slumping in his chair. “I’m different, and I’m almost positive he is, too.”

“What do you want to know?” Allison asks.

“Well,” Stiles scratches his chin. “He left Beacon Hills, how long has he been back? Does he have a job?” He pauses for a moment, thinking. “Is he… with someone?”

“He’s been back, I don’t know, almost two and a half years now?” Scott looks at Allison, nodding. “Yeah, right around there.”

“How did I not see him when I came home during school breaks?”

“He lived near the county line,” Scott says. “He mostly stayed to himself, but then he met Jennifer and they--” Allison elbows Scott in the ribs, shaking her head.

“They -- What? Who’s Jennifer?”

“That’s not our story to tell, Stiles,” Allison glares at Scott. “Derek owns the local bookshop, Nose in A Book. Erica, remember Erica? She works there, too. You probably didn’t see Derek because, like Scott told you, he lived near the county line. Boyd lives up there, so he and Derek became close friends. I don’t know if Derek’s with anyone right now; that’s something you should ask him.”

Stiles still isn’t satisfied.

“But who’s Jennifer?”

“His ex,” Allison sighs, holding up a hand to stop Stiles. “That’s all _we’re_ telling you.”

The next night Stiles is sitting on the end of his bed, contemplating clothing choices when he hears a knock on his door.

“Hey, Dad, you need something?”

“Just letting you know I got called in, so I won’t see you until whenever you decide to wake up tomorrow.”

Stiles nods, because he’s used to the late nights and coming home, sometimes, to an empty house.

“Be careful,” Stiles says with a smile.

“You too, son. Have fun on your date.”

“It’s not a date.”

“Tell Derek I say hello.”

“It’s _not a date_.”

“Love you, son,” the sheriff chuckles, closing the door.

“It’s not a date,” Stiles tells himself over and over as he drives to Minnie’s. He finds a parking spot easily, which is a surprise on a Friday night. “It’s not a date,” Stiles keeps saying as he walks across the street, stopping when he sees Derek already seated at a booth, fingers tapping on the table. He watches Derek glance at his watch, and Stiles looks at his own, sees that he has five minutes to spare and continues to stand out on the sidewalk.

“It’s not a date,” Stiles says confidently, striding to the door, bell tinkling above it.

Stiles feels like he’s trapped in a romantic movie setting. Derek obviously heard the bell, and when his eyes find Stiles’, Stiles is rooted firmly to the spot. Holy _fuck_ , Derek looks so good, Stiles thinks, feet finally moving as he makes his way toward the booth. Toward Derek.

Derek--and Stiles kind of wants to punch him for being so goddamn adorable--stands up awkwardly when Stiles approaches.

“It’s not a date,” Stiles blurts out.

Derek blinks.

“That’s not what I expected, but okay.”

“Sorry! Fuck, I’m… I’m sorry, Derek. I’m nervous,” Stiles swallows, wincing, and then he feels himself smiling. Derek looks so good. “Hi,” Stiles says, relaxing.

Derek seems to visibly relax, tension easing from his face and shoulders.

“Hi, yourself,” Derek grins, giving Stiles a quick once-over. “You look -- You look good, Stiles.”

They both make to sit down, feet and knees knocking together, Stiles blushing furiously while Derek smiles tightly, clearing his throat. When they finally ease into the booth, relaxed once again, does Stiles break the small silence.

“It’s really good to see you,” Stiles says. _I missed you_ is left unspoken, hanging on the end of that statement, but it’s shining like a neon sign in his mind. “It’s been a long time.”

“How old are you now?” Derek asks, fingers tap-tapping on the table.

“Just turned twenty-three.”

“I was that age when I left Beacon Hills,” Derek says, shaking his head. “Seems like a lifetime ago, now.”

There’s a heaviness that hangs between them, and this is not exactly going as Stiles thought. Thankfully, any more awkwardness grinds to a halt when a waitress comes to take their orders. Derek orders coffee and scrambled eggs with toast. Stiles orders a Coke and a bacon cheeseburger.

“Bacon cheeseburger?” Derek grins.

“I try not to eat red meat around my dad. I’m sure he’ll smell it on me.”

Derek laughs, and the sound is amazing, something Stiles hasn’t heard in so long. After that, the tensions eases further, but it’s still a little awkward, both of them tiptoeing around one another, unsure of what to do or say. They make small talk about Derek’s job (“Erica is the best because she’s so organized, but the worst because she’s so organized.”) and Stiles graduating college (“The guy hands me my fake degree, because you get your real one mailed to you, and I immediately think ‘what the fuck am I going to do now?’”). Stiles admits that as much as he loves learning, researching, absorbing as much as he can about everything, that sometimes it still isn’t enough.

“That’s why I went to Europe. I wanted to see what else was out there.”

Derek nods in understanding, buttering a piece of toast.

“Exploring the world is good for the soul,” Derek says, smiling.

“Yeah, it is.” Stiles mirrors Derek’s smile. “So then I was walking around Amsterdam when I saw a sign that was looking for a journalist.”

Derek tilts his head at that.

“You’re not a journalist.”

“That’s what I said!” Stiles laughs. “It was a travel agency actually. They were looking for someone to do a writeup about Amsterdam, someone who could talk up tourists, find out about their experiences, you know, stuff like that.” Stiles clears his throat, suddenly shy. “They turned my work into their new brochure.”

“Stiles,” Derek says, eyes wide. “That’s impressive!”

“It’s nothing.” Stiles shoves a fry in his mouth, but he’s smiling, though. “So now I do freelance writing. Dad was confused at first, and I know it’s -- he doesn’t want me ‘wasting all my potential’, but I’m still trying to--”

“Figure yourself out, I get it,” Derek cuts in, pausing with his fork halfway to his mouth. “Sorry.”

“No, that’s exactly it right there.” Stiles pushes aside the last bit of his burger, mostly bread now. “Enough about me, tell me about you.”

Derek shrugs a shoulder, holding up a finger to their waitress, who tops of his coffee and refills Stiles’ Coke.

“There’s not much to tell,” Derek begins. “I came back to Beacon Hills, met Boyd and lived with him for a few months,” Derek idly scratches his cheek. “Bought the deed for the bookshop from Mr. Gregory, who wanted to retire, and then Erica hired herself.”

“That sounds like her,” Stiles laughs, chin resting in his hand. “And?”

“And I own a bookshop.” Derek taps his fingers on the table. “Sometimes I sub at the high school.”

“Seriously?” Stiles’ voice pitches low at the thought of Teacher Derek Hale. “I mean,” he clears his throat quickly. “That’s -- That’s cool. What subject?”

“History,” Derek smirks.

Stiles nods, and he doesn’t want to keep pushing, but he knows there’s more. He wants to know about Jennifer.

“And?”

“And…?” Derek grins. “That’s it, Stiles.”

“No girlfriends? Boyfriends?”

Derek’s demeanor shifts around, Stiles doesn’t miss it and clearly this isn’t a comfortable subject matter for Derek. Well, now Stiles feels like a complete asshole.

“That was -- That was rude, I’m sorry.”

“No, Stiles,” Derek says, shaking his head, sighing. “There was someone, it was complicated, and now we aren’t together anymore.” Derek looks across the table at Stiles. “What about you? No girlfriends? Boyfriends?”

“Fair enough,” Stiles chuckles. “No life reaffirming relationships or anything. Dated in college a few times, and uh, there was this guy. In Amsterdam.” Stiles looks down at the napkin he’s been shredding. “I think we spent more time in bed than, you know, out.”

Derek watches him closely.

“Do you miss him?”

“Sometimes? Not really. It was just a… a fling, you know?”

Derek nods, and thankfully their waitress arrives with the check, which Derek immediately steals from Stiles.

“I’ve got it,” Derek says, leaving enough to cover the total and tip.

Stiles doesn’t argue even though he could’ve easily helped pay half, but he lets Derek have this, sliding out of the booth right as Derek does.

“I asked you to dinner, to talk to you. About something,” Derek says, shifting on his feet.

“I remember,” Stiles smiles. “Let’s go for a walk?”

They’re quiet for awhile, shoes scuffling as they walk, and at one point Stiles notices they’re walking in sync which makes him smile. When they reach the park their steps slow down, and Derek finally breaks the silence.

“There’s this apartment I’m thinking of renting,” he starts with a deep breath. “I could cover the cost of it, but it would help to have a roommate. And I was thinking, since you’re back in town…”

Stiles stares at Derek, mouth parting in surprise.

“You want to live with me?”

“I knew it was a bad idea; forget I asked,” Derek mumbles, folding his arms over his chest.

“What? No! Derek, no, you just -- You took me by surprise. I’m surprised, is all.”

“So, you want to? Live with me?”

Stiles fidgets, pacing a few times, glancing at Derek who is waiting with bated breath. This is a big deal, and Stiles doesn’t want to end up hating Derek, the idea that there are people who you shouldn’t live with because you’ll end up driving one another crazy. Or hating one another. Stiles doesn’t want to get to a point like that with Derek, and he’s not sure he can share a space with Derek, especially with the confusing feelings he has sometimes when the name Derek Hale pops up in his mind.

“I’m not an easy person to live with, ask my dad,” Stiles says.

“I think I can manage,” Derek’s face brightens a little. “So, is that a yes?”

“Are you sure about this, Derek? This is, I don’t know, this is a big deal. I mean sure we get along easily, even if you do drive me crazy--”

“Excuse me?” Derek interrupts. “Because you never came into my room without knocking.”

“That was--”

“Because you never made yourself at home, _in my home and bedroom_ , whenever you felt like it.”

“Hey, I hung out in Cora’s--”

“Because you _never_ ate third helpings.”

“Dude, your mom’s tuna casserole is a revelation.”

“What I’m saying is, Stiles, if I drive you crazy? Rest assured you drive me crazier. I think we’ll be fine.”

“This is a big decision,” Stiles says thoughtfully.

“You’re the only one I’ve asked,” Derek admits, blushing.

Stiles smiles at that, feeling his own cheeks burning. He can’t believe Derek has the ability to still make him blush like this, like he’s in high school again, and Derek’s the twenty-something, hot older brother of one of his closest friends.

“How much is rent?” Stiles asks, falling into a slow walk with Derek once again.

“$550,” Derek says, “But uh, there’s a catch.”

“I knew it was too good to be true,” Stiles groans. “Okay, give it to me.”

Derek has this look on his face like he was just sucker punched.

“You have to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

Stiles stops walking, staring at the ground until his eyes begin to water.

“The rental agreement is for a professional couple only,” Derek says quickly. “We know each other well enough, Stiles, I think we can pull it off. This is a great place, I promise.”

Stiles finally looks at Derek, still staring in abject horror.

“We have to pretend. To be in a relationship. So you can have the apartment of your dreams?”

“The apartment of my dreams? No, Stiles, what? I really like this place, and it’s close to the shop, but I understand completely if you don’t want to do this. It’s -- It’s a lot to ask.”

“I’m sorry, you’re totally fine _pretending_ to be in relationship together?”

“I trust you, Stiles.”

“You don’t even know me!” Stiles exclaims, hands tugging on his hair. “Derek, we only got reacquainted tonight. You really don’t know me, and I don’t know you.”

“We can’t get to know one another again?” Derek glares. “You’re right, we only got reacquainted tonight, but I still trust you.”

“Pretending to be in a relationship, Derek!”

“I know, Stiles!” Derek’s voice softens, “I know.”

“We can’t get away with this.”

“I’m sure we can.”

“You don’t even know how I like my coffee.”

“One cream, two sugars. If you’ve had a bad day you take it black. During holidays you take advantage of pumpkin spice lattes and peppermint mochas.”

Stiles stares at Derek, voice hoarse when he says, “how?”

“Because I know you.”

“We still can’t get away with this, Derek.”

“I think we can.”

“We’ll have to make up stories, dates for anniversaries, and pictures. I can photoshop pictures,” Stiles says all this muttering under his breath, the list already forming in his mind.

“I don’t like pet names,” Derek says.

“Only if it’s your mom calling you Loup.”

“How did you remember that?”

“Man, you have a temper on you, but the second your mom put an arm around you and said ‘calm down, Loup’ or ‘it’s okay, Loup’ you were okay.”

Derek swallows. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“It’s nothing.” Stiles shrugs. “So what are we going to tell our family and friends?”

“I guess… we can leave out one minor detail?”

“Are you kidding me? I’m back in town, and that means me and Scott are once again attached at the hip.”

“Erica will see right through me.”

“How about.” Stiles stops Derek with a hand on his chest. “We pretend to date for a little while, just so everyone will see that this isn’t some sudden thing, and then oh look, now we’re going to try and live together.”

“Pretend to date?”

“What, you actually want to date me?”

“What, no… no,” Derek clears his throat. “It sounds odd, pretend to date.”

“This entire situation is odd, Derek.”

“Fair point. Okay, let’s pretend to date. See where it goes from there. I hope the place is still available, though.”

“If we’re going to do this we have to make it official,” Stiles says seriously. “Derek, will you be my fake boyfriend?”

Derek shoves Stiles, both of them laughing as they walk back to their cars, and for a moment Stiles has a wild thought: maybe one day this won’t be fake.

*

It lasts about a month.

Stiles and Derek, rather easily, fall into a simple routine. It’s easy enough to pretend that once Stiles got back in town old feelings came back to the surface (“I knew it!” Cora said gleefully when, after two weeks of “dating”, Stiles and Derek told everyone they were “a couple.”) What shocks Stiles the most is how much he and Derek actually know and remember about one another after so long. The sheriff seems suspicious, but every Friday night there’s a standing dinner date. Allison and Cora aren’t surprised at all, and Erica enjoys herself immensely when Stiles drops in to visit Derek at work.

“Did you bring brownies?” Erica asks from behind a stack of boxes.

“I didn’t know brownies were required for my visits,” Stiles laughs, looking around for Derek.

“Next time bring brownies, Stilinski. Your lover boy’s in the back.”

Stiles finds Derek in the storage room surrounded by more boxes, and Stiles figures out quickly enough the shop got a shipment of new books in. Derek must not hear Stiles approaching, or he’s too wrapped up in his work because Stiles stands in the doorway, watching him. He has a pencil stuck behind his ear and a smudge of dirt on his face, and Stiles has a sudden urge to kiss the daylights out of Derek.

“Stiles, hey. I didn’t see you,” Derek smiles back at him. “Did you need something?”

“No, I just... wanted to say hi.” Stiles walks toward Derek, licking his lips. “So, hi.”

“You better not be making out back there!” Erica yells, boots stomping down the hallway.

Stiles doesn’t think twice when he pulls Derek close, arms wrapping around Derek’s neck, mouth easily seeking out Derek’s, who makes a soft noise of pleasure when their lips touch. This is their first kiss, Stiles thinks, wanting to make it a really _good_ first kiss. Stiles traces the seam of Derek’s lips with his tongue until Derek’s parting his mouth, and they’re kissing each other thoroughly, deeply. Derek’s hands press on the small of Stiles’ back and Stiles steps closer, his hands now finding their way under Derek’s shirt, while Derek’s hands tug on Stiles’ hair.

“Holy shit, guys, get a fucking room,” Erica crows. “Or not, I don’t care.”

They pull apart fast, Stiles wiping his mouth while Derek fixes his shirt.

Erica grabs another list off Derek’s clipboard and picks up two more boxes, winking at them before making her way back to the front.

Stiles chances a look at Derek, who still has a hungry expression on his face.

“Do you think she bought it?” Stiles’ voice cracks.

“Ye--yeah,” Derek clears his throat. “That was uh, why did you do that?”

 _I wanted to_ is what Stiles wants to say, but instead murmurs, “had to give her a show, right?”

“I think I hear her coming back,” Derek says, tugging Stiles back, staring at his mouth.

“I think I hear her too,” Stiles agrees, kissing Derek hungrily. Derek backs Stiles into a shelf making Stiles’ legs fall open, almost wrapping them around Derek, but he stops. This is supposed to be pretend, but this, this is… fucking awesome. Stiles’ lips start to go numb but fuck it, he refuses to stop, and Derek is unrelenting, like a dying man in a desert craving water.

“Taste good,” Derek murmurs against Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles takes the opportunity to catch his breath, arms resting on Derek’s shoulders.

“This is my new favorite thing,” Stiles licks his lips, grinning.

“Pretend kisses?” Derek jokes, and somehow he realizes what he says, stepping away from Stiles. “This is -- We’re pretending, right?”

Stiles feels his stomach lurch, a dull ache forming in his chest, and somewhere in this crazy month of pretending to date Derek, Stiles is beginning to think that maybe it isn’t entirely pretend.

“Right, pretend. Erica totally could’ve showed up again.”

Derek nods, fiddling with the pencil still stuck behind his ear.

“I should… get back to work.” Derek looks around at all the boxes. “Don’t forget, I’m hanging out with Boyd tonight.”

“Oh shit, I did forget,” Stiles says, licking his lips, still tasting Derek there. “I’ll call Scott and see if he wants to hang out.”

Stiles makes his way to the door, looking back at Derek who’s already taking inventory of a stack of crisp, unopened books.

Maybe, Stiles thinks, it’s time to move in with Derek.

**

“I think it’s time.” Derek takes a swig of beer, eyes fixed on the football game he’s currently watching with Boyd.

“Time for what?” Boyd asks, groaning when the opposing team makes a touchdown.

“To move in with Stiles.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually dating him.”

“Pretend dating, for the sake of everyone else, not you, without them knowing about our nefarious plan,” Derek corrects.

“There’s nothing nefarious about this, Derek. You just want Stiles for the apartment.”

Derek doesn’t readily respond, picking at the label on his bottle.

“You have real feelings for him, don’t you?” Boyd asks, not sounding at all surprised.

“Like you said, I want him for the apartment.”

Derek never was a great liar.

**

“I think it’s time, man,” Stiles grits out, stabbing another zombie through its decomposing skull.

Scott careens sideways into Stiles as he dodges an almost bite from three zombies.

“What, time to die? Don’t sacrifice yourself for me, dude.”

“Please,” Stiles snorts. “No, I mean, time to move in with Derek.”

“Are you sure you’re both ready for that?”

“Were you ready when Allison moved in with you?”

“Correction: Allison didn’t move in with me, I moved in with Allison.”

Stiles and Scott yell at the game until they’ve both killed enough zombies to move on to the next level.

“What do you mean you moved in with Allison?”

“She asked me to move in with her.”

“That’s really awesome, man. I didn’t know that.”

“I didn’t want to push her into something she didn’t want to do unless she was sure,” Scott says, glancing at Stiles with a smile. “She knew how I felt, but I told her that the final decision should be hers.”

“How long have you been living together now?”

“Just five months.” Scott shrugs, but Stiles can’t miss the elated look on his face. “Her parents bought a ranch; did she tell you?”

“No way! That’s really fucking cool.”

“They call it their retirement ranch,” Scott chuckles. “I don’t think her mom will ever like the idea of us living together, but she respects it because it’s what Allison wants.”

“You’re trying to tell me something, aren’t you?”

“Moving in with someone is a big step in a relationship, and it should be a mutual thing. Both of you should want it, because sharing space with someone is also pretty difficult, especially if that person is someone you’re sleeping with.”

Stiles swallows. “Me and Derek--”

“I don’t need details, man.” Scott pauses the game, his attention on Stiles, now. “Make sure when you go through with this that you’re both absolutely sure you want to do it.”

Stiles nods, understanding, and amazed that his best friend is the one shelling out advice instead of him.

“Look at you, giving me life advice.”

“I took notes on life where it counted. Also, my mom pretty much smacked me with advice every single day of my adolescent years, which she still does.” Scott gives Stiles a friendly punch on the arm, unpausing the game. “A mutual thing, Stiles. Don’t forget.”

Stiles is fairly certain it was a mutual thing when he and Derek kissed.

*

Before they move in, Stiles and Derek have a sit down interview with the landlady of the building, Margaret ‘Call Me Maggie’ Klein.

“Call me Maggie, boys,” Margaret grins cheekily, frumping her hair, blowing cigarette smoke in their faces.

Stiles coughs until his eyes water, smiling with a wince. Luckily, Derek takes the reins.

“Thank you for seeing us, Maggie. I’m very happy the apartment is still available for rent,” Derek stops, though, catching Stiles’ wide-eyed look. “I mean we’re very happy.”

Maggie chuckles, smiling prettily at them.

“I’ve had plenty of couples come to me about the place, but none of them have the spark you two have,” she points her cigarette at them, ashes fluttering to the floor. “I can see it. Now! Tell me your story.”

Nobody says anything for a few minutes.

“Oh come on, now! I want to hear how the two of you met!” Maggie practically squeals. “All couples have a story!”

“I, uh, well...” Derek stutters.

“I was fifteen when I met Derek, but he didn’t acknowledge my presence until I was seventeen,” Stiles smiles to himself, turning his face to Derek’s, who’s looking at him adorably confused. Stiles can’t get through this without looking at Derek, so he gives his side of their story, voice soft, words truthful as he continues.

“I went to school with his sister, Cora. We met in our sophomore year, AP History was the class, and she asked me for a pen. During lunch that day, we became quick friends, and I introduced her to all my friends. I was fifteen when Cora invited me to her house to study, walking into the kitchen to see someone tall, dark, and handsome standing at the fridge -- Derek.” Stiles pauses to smile at Derek.

“You asked me where the glasses were,” Derek fills in.

“You told me not to drink the orange juice because it was yours,” Stiles grins.

“Why do you say I didn’t acknowledge your presence until you were seventeen?”

“Because we didn’t have any reason to talk? You thought I was annoying?” Stiles offers with a laugh and a shrug. “The fire happened that year, when I was fifteen. I didn’t think Cora would ever smile again. You sat around looking so despondent, and there I was, standing in the middle of all that not knowing what to say or do. I found myself missing Laura’s jibs about me talking too much, and that hurt, and I felt guilty for being hurt.”

“You felt guilty?” Derek frowns.

“You guys… you weren’t my family but you felt like one? You know my dad works crazy hours, that’s why I was always at your house. Your mom understood. It was nice, feeling like I was part of a family.” Stiles stares at his hands, and he watches Derek take one of his hands, twining their fingers together.

“I’m glad you emailed me,” Derek says.

“I’m glad I decided to come back,” Stiles bites his lip, smiling a little shyly.

Maggie claps loud and delightedly.

“Oh! Oh, you two! You two have _quite_ the history now, don’t you? Oh yes you do.”

After that, Maggie pulls out all the paperwork Stiles and Derek need to sign, and when all is said and done, she’s handing them two sets of keys to the apartment.

Derek wraps an arm around Stiles’ waist, kissing his temple. It’s such a simple action, and he does it seemingly, smiling a little dopily at Stiles.

Stiles leans into Derek’s warmth, nosing at his cheek and kissing the corner of Derek’s mouth, before wrapping his arms around Derek.

And then, it happens; their mouths meet in a slow, lazy kiss. Stiles melts against Derek like warm butter, groaning softly. They stay like that for a little while, tongues heavy and wet as the kiss gets deeper, more urgent. Derek grips Stiles’ hip and Stiles takes the opportunity to take a breath, their foreheads touching.

“Wanna do that all the time.”

Apparently, Stiles says that aloud because Derek bumps his nose into Stiles’ whispering, “so do I.”

 _A mutual thing_ , Stiles thinks. And he knows he’s a complete goner for Derek now.

*

They decide to move in officially on a Saturday.

Derek takes a day off from the shop and Stiles takes a break from his freelance work to help out. Stiles is surprised at how much _stuff_ they have accumulated between the two of them. He takes a look around at all the boxes in his room, biting his lip in thought.

“Don’t forget your action figures, son,” the sheriff chuckles from the doorway.

“Ha ha ha, you’re hilarious!” Stiles feigns a belly laugh.

“Are you absolutely sure you want to move in with Derek? You’ve only been dating a month, I’m worried that--”

“There’s nothing to worry about, I promise.” Stiles fights with the zipper on his suitcase before it finally gives, setting it down by the other. “We both talked about it and this is what we want.”

A honk outside interrupts whatever his dad was about to say next and Stiles can’t hide his smile.

“Derek’s here!” Stiles races out of his room, flying down the stairs, and opens the door just as Derek is about to knock. “Play along,” Stiles whispers fiercely.

“Wha--”

Stiles is kissing him, slumping against Derek, and he feels drunk suddenly. God, if he had known kissing Derek would be this great he would’ve done it years ago. Stiles knows he doesn’t really have to kiss Derek right now, but he knows his dad has followed him, and sure enough he hears a polite cough behind them.

It takes a few seconds for Derek to get his bearings back, eyes still closed, licking away the taste of Stiles. Already addicted and still craving more, Derek leans forward, mouth greedy as he makes Stiles groan, seeking another kiss.

“Get a room!” Scott’s voice shouts from outside.

They break apart fast, staring at one another before they go about fixing themselves, patting down their clothes.

It takes Scott, Derek, and the sheriff to carry all of Stiles’ boxes out to truck Derek rented.

“How in the hell do you have more boxes than me?” Derek grunts, shoving boxes around to make room.

“Four of these boxes are video games, be gentle.”

Scott snorts at that and the sheriff rolls his eyes.

“Hey, guys!” Allison says, walking over with a suitcase and a box under her arm. “Scott and I were thinking of treating you guys to dinner afterward, what do you say?”

Stiles and Derek glance at one another looking sheepish, suddenly awkward in everyone’s presence.

“Want to?” Stiles asks tentatively.

Derek shrugs.

“I guess so, beats having to cook anything.”

“Derek, we don’t even have food yet.”

“I made a grocery run last night,” Derek mumbles.

“You went _without me_?” Stiles asks, staring at Derek incredulously. “What about me? What about what _I want to eat_?”

“Then we’ll go after dinner and you can pick up some stuff.”

“That’s not the point, Derek! We’re living together now, that’s something we should do _together_.”

Derek blushes in both anger and embarrassment, taking note of everyone trying not to listen in on their conversation.

“I can’t -- You’re unbelievable. Unbelievable,” Stiles spits out, walking away to get the rest of his stuff.

Scott goes to follow but Allison shakes her head. Stiles’ dad gives Derek a questioning look before going after Stiles.

“You okay, man?” Scott asks while Allison gives his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’ll be okay, Derek,” she says. “Fights like this, well, better get used to it.”

The rest of the day only gets worse after that, and dinner, while supposed to be fun and celebratory, is nothing short of World War 3.

“I’m allergic to shellfish, Derek.”

Derek takes a deep breath, counting to five.

“I forgot, Stiles.”

“You didn’t buy any shellfish when you went _grocery shopping_ did you?”

Derek clenches a hand around his fork, still counting.

“No, Stiles, I didn’t buy any goddamn shellfish. Will you fucking drop it already?” Derek hisses at him, trying to be quiet and courteous. “I made a mistake.”

“I guess me passing out and choking would’ve been clue enough for you, then?” Stiles snaps, glaring at his plate.

Derek slams his hands on the table making Scott slide his chair back and Allison yelp.

“You’re so fucking dramatic!” Derek yells, standing up, towering over Stiles. “I’m sorry I went grocery shopping without you, I’m sorry I ordered steak and lobster when I should’ve remembered you’re allergic to shellfish, and I’m sorry that I’m apparently a fuck-up in your opinion.”

There’s a hush around the restaurant and Derek hates being embarrassed like this in public.

Stiles looks up at him, swallowing.

“I never said you were a--”

“Just shut up, Stiles.” Derek turns around, fresh air blasting him in the face when he steps outside.

He’s sitting on the curb staring at an ant crawling on his shoe when Stiles appears beside him, leaning against him. They’re quiet for awhile, sitting and sharing space, breathing in the same cool, fall air.

“I’m sorry, Derek,” Stiles says softly. “My nerves are shot and I’m taking all of it out on you, and I’m sorry, Derek.” Stiles rests his head on Derek’s shoulder. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

Derek shakes his head, wrapping an arm around Stiles.

“Shut up, Stiles.”

“Are you still mad at me?”

“Yes and no, but it’s okay. We’re okay.”

“Can we -- Can we stop at the store so I can buy some Lucky Charms?”

“Anything else?”

“I’ll make a list later, but I really want some Lucky Charms.”

“I bought milk. Skim milk.”

“I hate skim milk.”

Derek bursts out laughing, tugging Stiles closer until Stiles is wrapping his arms around him, burrowing against him for warmth.

“Of course you do,” Derek chuckles.

*

It takes them around two days to get settled in their new place. Maggie greets them on the second night with a box of chocolate covered cherries and a bottle of champagne. Derek’s allergic to cherries, so Stiles happily eats the entire box, and throws them up in the morning. They save the champagne for a special occasion. Derek’s not entirely sure what that’ll be, but he smiles at the bottle sitting atop the fridge, a sign that maybe, down the line, they’ll have something more to celebrate.

They haven’t introduced themselves to any of their neighbors yet, but Stiles is already fascinated with the tenant below them.

“He looks like a cherub but underneath he’s probably a baby eater.”

“A baby eater, Stiles? Really?”

“He never leaves his place! I should know; I’ve been keeping track.”

“That’s not weird _at all_ ,” Derek snorts, continuing to cut up fruit.

Stiles is clacking away on his laptop at their teeny tiny kitchen table, papers strewn everywhere, ink stains on his fingers.

“Why do you have ink all over you?”

“My pen exploded. I was chewing on it, and then there was blue ink all over me.”

Derek rolls his eyes, setting down a bowl of fruit in front of Stiles.

“Eat,” Derek says, fixing a bowl for himself.

“I don’t want any fruit,” Stiles says, bored and uninterested, eyes fixed on the computer screen. “Do we have any more donuts?”

“You’ve had enough donuts, Stiles. Please eat something decent, for me?” Derek smiles, trying his best to be convincing.

Stiles is nowhere near paying attention to Derek.

Derek sighs in defeat, glancing at his watch.

“Crap, I’m going to be late. Stiles?” Derek turns around, waiting. “Stiles? Stiles!”

“Christ, dude! What?”

“Don’t forget to pick up my dry cleaning. I have that important meeting tomorrow, and-- Stiles, please pay attention!”

Stiles sighs dramatically _finally_ looking at Derek.

“Pick up dry cleaning, very important meeting, anything else?”

“Stop being an asshole.”

“That’ll never happen,” Stiles grins cheekily. “Ooh, pineapple.”

Derek gets distracted momentarily watching Stiles’ fingers pick out each piece of pineapple, bringing them to his offensive mouth, lips sliding over his fingers when he puts the fruit in his mouth, tongue peeking out to lick his juicy lips.

He stalks to his room, furiously grabbing his bags and his coat, and stops at the door, thinks about it, and marches back over to Stiles.

Stiles meeps in surprise, but when Derek’s mouth latches to his, nothing else matters. Derek’s lips, teeth, and tongue are ruthless as he kisses Stiles hard, one hand squeezing the back of Stiles’ neck.

“Have a good day,” Derek pulls back panting, “and don’t forget my dry cleaning.”

\--

“Hey, man, what time is it?” Stiles asks, a sudden sinking feeling that he’s forgotten to do something.

He and Scott have been playing Halo 4 for almost five hours. There are three pizza boxes on the coffee table and a half-eaten bag of Cheetos between them. The couch and part of the floor is sprinkled with orange Cheetos dust from when they got mad and threw the bag at the TV.

Derek’s going to be so pissed, and now Stiles has just remembered that he forgot to pick up Derek’s dry cleaning.

“Uh, 6:30.” Scott takes a quick peek at his phone. “Why, what’s up?”

Before Stiles can answer Derek comes through the door, and he takes one look at them, the couch, and then the floor, and says, “I’m not cleaning any of this up.”

Stiles gulps, palms sweating.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?” Scott frowns, pausing the game.

Derek frowns, walking over and kneels down, back of his hand touching Stiles’ forehead.

“Are you sick?” Derek says gently.

Stiles shakes his head, rubbing his hands over his face.

“I didn’t catch that, what?”

“I forgot to pick up the dry cleaning,” Stiles whispers.

Derek laughs, looking at Scott, then to Stiles, temper already rising.

“No you didn’t because I reminded you last night, this morning, and I left a post-it on the bathroom mirror. There’s no way you forgot.”

(Scott had found the post-it. “Dude, you better go get the dry cleaning. They close at 5 and it’s already 4.” Stiles had simply said, “We’ll go at 4:30!”)

“I forgot, Derek. I… fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Derek stands up, nostrils flaring.

“I think I better--”

“Help Stiles clean up, Scott?” Derek cuts in. “I absolutely agree. You two get right the fuck on that.” Derek storms off, slamming his bedroom door shut.

“Hopefully he doesn’t mess up any of your stuff,” Scott says.

Stiles is about to correct him, but he remembers that him and Derek are still pretending, and nobody knows that even though they live together they have separate rooms.

“Right, yeah, that wouldn’t be good,” Stiles agrees.

After everything is cleaned up and Scott gives Stiles a reassuring pat on the back, Stiles makes his way to Derek’s room, knocking on the door.

Derek pulls open the door, fuming.

“I’m sor--”

“You’re _always_ sorry, Stiles. I asked you to do one thing and you couldn’t even do that.”

Stiles swallows, looking away. He hates, hates being the reason Derek is angry.

“I’ll get up early and go, okay? What time do they open?”

“Forget it, Stiles. I’ll get up early and do it myself, like I should’ve done in the first place.”

Stiles wants to rewind time, wants so much to go back to this morning when Derek kissed him. It was passionate and full of intent, and Stiles wants to feel that again. His fingers itch to touch Derek in some way, but that would probably piss him off further, so Stiles just nods, walking away to his room.

*

Almost a week goes by before Derek acknowledges Stiles’ presence in the apartment. Anytime before that had been short, terse conversations:

“How’d the meeting go?”

“Fine. We now have a new contract with a book dealer in Boston.”

“That’s great, Derek.”

“Yep.”

\--

“I finally found work with the _Beacon Hills Gazette_.”

“That’s nice, Stiles.”

\--

“Don’t worry about the dishes, Derek, I’ll do them.”

“Whatever.”

\--

“Scott and Allison want us to come over for dinner.”

“I’m not in the mood to play pretend tonight.”

“Fine, I’ll go by myself.”

“Fine.”

\--

Stiles is going out of his mind. He’s not good at being ignored, especially by his friends, more importantly by Derek. And this is what living with Derek is supposed to be, right? They’re not a real couple, this is all just some fake bullshit so Derek can have his stupid fucking apartment. Stiles actually doesn’t mind living with Derek, the fake relationship thing, well, he deals with it. _They_ deal with it. Stiles didn’t want to be back in Beacon Hills, living with his dad all over again, so having his own space is nice, and living with Derek is great. But it’s only great when Derek is _talking to him_.

He’s currently lying on his bed, earbuds jammed in his ears to drown out the world. To drown out Derek. The bed dips behind him and Stiles turns his head, eyebrows shooting up at Derek.

Derek points at his ears.

Stiles pulls out the earbuds, clearing his throat.

“What did I do now?”

“Come on.” Derek grabs Stiles’ hand, tugging Stiles to the edge of the bed.

“Oh you remember that you live with someone?” Stiles says acidly.

Derek sighs.

“It’s not easy living with someone, Stiles.”

“You mean it’s not easy living with _me_ , and you know what? You’re not any fucking better.”

“I know,” Derek concedes, tugging on Stiles’ hand again. “Come with me, please?”

Stiles groans, scooting off the bed, begrudgingly following Derek out of his room. He’s not sure what he expected, but a candlelit dinner was not it.

“What is this?” Stiles walks to the table, looking back at Derek.

“I’m sorry for the way I reacted, and I’m sorry for ignoring you.” Derek walks over to Stiles, squeezing his hand. “I made you my mom’s tuna casserole. She called it I’m Sorry For Being An Idiot Tuna Casserole.”

Stiles covers his mouth, stifling a laugh.

“I’m sorry for being an idiot.”

Stiles waves a hand at him.

“I still messed up, and yeah, you overreacted, but let’s just… move on.”

Derek smiles, wrapping an arm around Stiles’ waist, pulling him close. Stiles hums happily letting his arms come around Derek’s neck, forehead resting against Derek’s.

“Stiles, I--”

There’s a loud, banging knock on their door.

Stiles’ shoulders slump and he already feels the warmth of Derek’s body leaving him. But Derek must sense his sadness because he pecks Stiles on the mouth, smiling.

“Later,” Derek promises, going to answer the door.

“Hello,” a voice says quietly. When Stiles peeks around Derek, he sees that it’s the cherubic, baby-eating angel from downstairs.

“Hello!” Stiles says brightly, shoving Derek aside. “I’m Stiles, this is Derek, and you’re…?”

“Um, Isaac. I live downstairs. You guys shout a lot. Do you have any eggs?”

Stiles and Derek blink at one another, looking back at Isaac.

“Sorry we’re so loud,” Stiles says with a smile. “And yeah, Derek? Do we have any eggs?”

“Sure, hang on.”

Stiles and Isaac stand there awkwardly while Stiles tries to make conversation.

“Did you want to come in?”

“No, I just want some eggs.”

“What do you do, Isaac?”

“I make art. Don’t ask me to see it.”

Stiles blinks. “Okay then.”

Derek comes back with the egg carton, holding it out to Isaac.

“I put the rest in a bowl,” Derek explains to Stiles. “I gave you four, is that enough?”

Isaac hugs the egg carton, nodding at Derek.

“I won’t tell Maggie,” Isaac says.

Stiles gives Derek a look, who looks just as confused as Stiles.

“I’m sorry?” Stiles laughs nervously.

“I won’t tell Maggie you aren’t really a couple.”

Derek stares at Isaac looking at Stiles slowly, eyes wide in horror, clearly trying to convey to Stiles to fix this fast, to keep up appearances.

“Of course we are!” Stiles says with no conviction at all and Derek groans.

“You never say I love you.” And then Isaac is gone.

Derek shuts the door, slumping against it.

“We’ve been living here almost three weeks and our neighbor noticed a glaring error in our fake relationship.”

Stiles has to laugh, because seriously? Of all the things to notice, it had to be that. Isaac isn’t exactly wrong, though, because why would they say that? Neither of them have any reason to say I love you.

“We have to,” Derek bites his lip. “We have to get better at this, Stiles, or we’re going to slip up.”

“Let’s eat some tuna casserole, and then sleep on it,” Stiles suggests, plopping down at their tiny table.

“Hey,” Derek interrupts Stiles, who’s been talking about all the stories he wants to write for the _Gazette_. “Boyd invited us over for dinner, with Erica. Apparently they’re dating now.”

“That’s awesome! I haven’t seen Boyd since we started fake dating.”

“He’s finally back in town. Owning his own contracting business keeps him traveling around a lot, mostly to Arizona,” Derek explains. “He’s trying to hire an assistant, someone he can trust, so he doesn’t have to travel so much.”

“How does Erica fit in with all this?” Stiles asks, scooping another helping of tuna casserole onto his plate.

“Well, they know each other from school, you know, and they sort of reconnected. When he’s gone, they call and text a lot.” Derek pours himself another glass of wine. “Oh yeah, Cora might stop by tomorrow. She’s got some mail for me.”

“Do we have those chocolate biscuits she likes?”

Derek smiles around the rim of his wine glass.

“You remember the oddest things.”

“I like to think I remember important things,” Stiles says, returning the smile.

They do the dishes together, Derek flicking water in Stiles’ face, and Stiles whapping Derek on the ass with a wet towel. When they reach the doors of their separate bedrooms, Derek longs for them to be sharing a room, he aches to feel Stiles’ mouth on his, to wake up with Stiles’ lithe body draped over his.

Stiles’ brow is furrowed when Derek looks at him, and Derek, without thinking, slides a thumb over Stiles’ cheek, his hand caressing Stiles’ face for just a moment.

Stiles presses his face into Derek’s palm, but Derek pulls it away before anything further happens. The kisses are enough to drive Derek crazy, anything else would just make him ache for something he can’t have.

“Goodnight kiss?” Stiles whispers, closing the distance between him and Derek.

“Stiles--”

But Stiles cuts him off, and his mouth feels and tastes so good, and Derek’s hungry for it. This isn’t pretending, and this is nowhere near fake, not with the noises Stiles is making. Every inch of Stiles is pressed against Derek, and Derek needs to feel more, but he stops himself, and stops Stiles with a hand on his chest.

“Goodnight, Stiles,” Derek murmurs, shutting the door on a sad looking Stiles.

*

“Wake up, toots! Wake up, I know you’re in there!”

Derek and Stiles come barreling out of their rooms, both grumpy and still rumpled from sleep. Derek drinks in the sight of Stiles bare chested, dark trail of hair skimming down his stomach, climbing down inside his--

Stiles clears his throat. “She’s still knocking, you know.”

Derek grunts, pulling open the door, and he doesn’t get to acknowledge Maggie at all before she’s pushing her way inside.

“So I figure you boys have had enough time to settle in,” Maggie states, lighting a cigarette. “What’s for breakfast?” She grins at them, making herself at home.

Breakfast is scrambled eggs, burnt toast (“We need a new toaster,” Stiles had grumbled.), fruit salad (for Derek), Lucky Charms (for Stiles), orange juice, and coffee. Lots of coffee.

“Derek, you never gave me your side of the story,” Maggie says around a mouthful of eggs.

“My side -- oh. Our story.” Derek chances a look at Stiles, who is currently dividing up his Lucky Charm marshmallows into groups. Stiles must notice him staring because he meets Derek’s gaze, smiling.

“You boys are too adorable, I swear,” Maggie puffs on a cigarette. “Let me have it!”

“Well, Stiles is right, I didn’t really pay him any attention until he was seventeen,” Derek starts. He can’t exactly say that it was because Derek noticed how Stiles had grown up, in a lot of ways. He had noticed a change in Stiles that summer, when Stiles began to grow his hair out, his body gaining a bit more muscle, his demeanor a lot more confident and casual.

“See, I told you,” Stiles jokes, finishing his second cup of coffee.

“That doesn’t mean I _didn’t_ notice you, Stiles. You were around all the time, taking up space wherever you were, eating my mom’s food, helping Cora study, creating inside jokes with Laura. You were there before the fire and after, and I always noticed you. I just… didn’t know how to talk to you.” Derek pops a piece of honeydew melon in his mouth, blushing hard.

Suddenly, there’s a loud trilling noise, and Maggie’s cursing, glaring at her cell phone screen.

“My moron of a son, Bobby. Moved back in ‘cause his daddy kicked him out,” Maggie makes a _tuh!_ noise. “That’s what he gets for keeping his daddy’s last name, the lying, cheating asshole.” Maggie stuffs another piece of burnt toast in her mouth, waving at them as she scuttles out the door, cigarette smoke wafting behind her.

“That was pleasant,” Derek snorts.

“She’ll never leave us alone,” Stiles says, resigned.

Cora arrives around two hours later, and the only thing she can talk about is their downstairs neighbor, Isaac.

“I met him after you buzzed me in. He certainly is intriguing, isn’t he? And holy shit he’s _gorgeous_ , I want to drown in his eyes.”

“You want to _drown in his eyes_ ,” Derek mocks, rolling his eyes.

“He’s a baby eater,” Stiles nods seriously, holding the phone.

“He’s not a baby eater!” Cora snaps.

“Who’s a baby eater?” Scott says over the other end of the phone.

“Our downstairs neighbor, Isaac. He makes art that we’re never allowed to see, and we think he’s a baby eater.”

“I’m leaving before I punch your boyfriend in the face,” Cora growls, kicking Stiles in the shin for her time. “See you soon, bro.”

Derek high-fives her, their own little ritual. Derek and Laura were the huggers while Cora and Derek were the high-fivers.

“I’m heading to work,” Derek grabs his bag and coat, and without thinking, without second guessing himself, he kisses Stiles.

Stiles drops the phone, hands curling into Derek’s shirt tugging him down.

Derek seems to realize what’s happening and what he keeps doing when they’re supposed to not be a couple, pulling back fast, staring at Stiles. They really, _really_ need to set ground rules, and Derek can’t believe he and Stiles didn’t think to do that long before now.

“We need -- We need to talk when I get home.”

Stiles nods, forehead wrinkling in confusion.

“Sure thing. Have a good day at work.”

Stiles spends half his day researching for work, and the other half wondering what Derek wants to talk about later on. So, instead of sitting around and stressing out about it even further, Stiles decides to clean, which is weird and not something he’d normally do. He even makes a checklist: unload the dishwasher, reload the dishwasher (the sink is starting to become another cabinet), vacuum his room, the sitting area, and Derek’s room, dust (seriously, who knew that many dust bunnies could gather in a month?), take the garbage out, and maybe do laundry. That’s a big maybe.

Two hours later Stiles is sweating and having a fight with the vacuum, so he abandons the vacuum for dusting. He can’t help but smile at all the pictures he and Derek have hanging on the walls, his favorites being his graduation picture and the one of Derek’s family. And then he realizes that there aren’t many photoshopped pictures of him and Derek, which is a bad sign in case anyone comes over. Thankfully, Cora didn’t notice, Stiles hopes, anyway.

Stiles only does half the cleaning, though, because he spends the rest of his day making more fake pictures of him and Derek.

Derek gets home a little late, and right as he gets in the door, he trips on the vacuum cord.

“What the -- _Stiles!_ ”

Stiles comes skipping out of his room, all smiles until he sees Derek on the floor, and then the vacuum.

“Oh shit, I forgot to put that back. By the way, it doesn’t work.”

“What do you mean?” Derek stands up with a grunt. “I used it the other day after you spilled flour all over the floor.”

“But my brownies were still delicious. Yeah, no, I plugged it in and nothing.”

Derek shakes his head at him. He picks up the end of the cord, plugs it into the socket, and flips the switch on the side as the vacuum comes alive, working just fine.

“You didn’t flip the switch,” Derek says.

“Oh,” Stiles says, crestfallen. “Well, I was going to vacuum! I swear.”

Derek then sees a pile of trash bags by the door.

“You forgot to take the trash out, and the dishwasher door is open, and it’s still full, and the sink is still overflowing,” Derek sighs, shrugging off his coat. “What did you do all day?”

“I did some research for work. I was going to clean! I made a checklist and everything,” Stiles says, holding up the paper. “I dusted,” he mumbles, balling up the paper.

“Well thanks, Stiles, that’s a big help.”

Stiles glares at Derek, stopping him before he gets to the dishwasher.

“I’ll take care of the fucking dishes, Derek.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you getting distracted again.” Derek rolls his eyes, heading to his room. “I’m taking a shower.”

Stiles angrily unloads the dishwasher, slamming each cabinet shut to make a point. It takes a bit to get the sink cleaned out, reloading the dishwasher right as Derek emerges from his room.

Derek glances at Stiles and the stiff line of his back, he can practically feel the anger radiating from him.

“You could fit everything in there if you did it right,” Derek offers, looking in the fridge for something to eat. “Hey, want to order in? What? What’s wrong?”

“You’re a fucking asshole, that’s what,” Stiles bites out, slamming the dishwasher shut.

“I was just--”

“If you say you were trying to help I’ll kick you in the fucking balls.”

“But I was trying to help, Stiles. I’m sorry if I offended you?” Derek shrugs, looking through their pile of take-out menus.

“I’m going to my room, I’m not hungry.” Stiles stomps to his room, slamming the door shut. Because, hey, why not continue to slam all the doors, right?

Stiles feels his throat closing up, wrapping his arms around himself. He never does anything right, in Derek’s opinion. Derek doesn’t even need to say it, it’s all in the way he looks at Stiles like he’s a complete moron. Stiles brushes aside all the pictures he wasted his day photoshopping, and instead, he pulls out a picture from his nightstand. The back says: _Graduation party, 2013_. It’s a closeup shot of him and Derek that Cora took while Allison tried to get them to smile (“At least pretend you like each other!”)

Derek’s side-eyeing Stiles while Stiles is smirking at Cora and Allison. Stiles thumbs Derek’s face in the picture, wanting Derek to look at him like that again. There’s a playful smile tugging at Derek’s mouth, and every time Stiles looks at the picture he wants to kiss Derek.

There’s a soft knock on his door followed by, “Can I come in, Stiles?”

“No, I’m busy.”

There’s silence and then, “Okay, we can talk later. We still need to talk.”

“Whatever, fine,” Stiles grumbles. “Just, come in.” Stiles has the picture shoved under a pillow right as Derek steps inside.

“Hey, so -- What the hell are these?” Derek picks up a picture, bursting out laughing. “You made these?”

Stiles snatches it from him, gathering all of them up, chucking them all in the trash.

“Hey,” Derek says, frowning. “Why did you do that?”

“I figured we needed more, you know, pictures of us as a couple, in case people come over.” Stiles crosses his arms over his chest. “It was a stupid idea.”

Derek pulls the pictures out of the trash, flipping through them.

“I pick three and you pick three, okay?”

Stiles is apprehensive but he nods, taking half the stack from Derek.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“I think we need to ease up on all… on all the kissing. We’re not really a couple, Stiles. And it…” Derek swallows, not looking at Stiles. “It gets confusing.”

Stiles’ heart sinks to his stomach, staring hard at the picture in his hand but not really seeing it. Derek’s right, they’re not really a couple, this is only pretend. Everything is fake.

“If that’s what you want,” Stiles says, barely audible.

Derek hands three pictures to Stiles, setting the others on the end of Stiles’ bed.

“I ordered some extra food if you’re hungry later,” Derek clears his throat, walking to the door. “I like _you_ , Stiles, but it’s getting confusing. We need to do this, okay?”

Stiles turns away from Derek, eyes burning.

“I’ll put my best foot forward when we’re playing pretend,” and that’s all Stiles has to say.

*

Dinner with Erica and Boyd is a complete bust, and Derek’s surprised that Erica still thinks he and Stiles are a couple.

“Hey, Stilinski, what are you getting lover boy for his birthday?” Erica had asked. “Better be something naughty.”

“I, uh, forgot about it, to be honest. Been busy with work.”

And then the questions just kept on coming.

“When’s your anniversary? Do you guys even have one? I mean you’ve known each other for years, is it the anniversary of when you met met or when you started dating?”

Stiles had gotten fed up, shoving his plate away.

“I’m ready to go home.”

Now they’re in Derek’s car, both of them steely and silent. Derek staring straight at the road while Stiles continues to ignore Derek.

“You don’t have to get anything for my birthday, by the way.”

“I’m you’re fake boyfriend; I have to.”

Derek peeks over at him then back at the road.

“Did you really -- Did you really forget my birthday?”

Of course not, Stiles wants to say, but he wants to hurt Derek.

“Haven’t really thought about it in a long time,” Stiles says with a shrug.

Five days later it’s Derek’s birthday, and there’s an impromptu surprise party that Stiles didn’t know about, and their apartment is a mess, and their fake photos look like fucking crap.

Cora, Allison, and Erica breeze right in, all of them carrying armfuls of bags full of party supplies. Stiles is still in his pajama bottoms and no shirt, staring at all of them as they start unloading everything.

“Well, look who it is! It’s noon, Stilinski! Derek keep you up all night?” Erica cackles, waggling her eyebrows.

“What -- What are you doing?” Stiles asks, looking at them with that deer-trapped-in-headlights look.

“Surprise party!” Cora exclaims. “Derek has no idea, and at the moment Boyd is keeping Derek distracted at work.”

“Scott’s picking up the cake and the alcohol,” Allison cuts in. “All you have to do is show your pretty little face for Derek later,” she grins, unraveling a roll of green streamers.

Stiles can’t and will not leave the apartment, because if he leaves, they’ll know. They’ll know that him and Derek aren’t really a couple, the game will beover, and Derek’s dream apartment will be rented out to an actual couple who’re so in love it’ll make people sick.

Stiles can’t breathe.

“I’m going to my, I mean, our room. I’m… going to our room.”

Stiles spends the entire day trapped in his room, door locked, and he hopes to God none of them find Derek’s room. He does text Derek throughout the day, who’s equally horrified.

**To Derek:**  
 _Your sister is throwing you a party. Surprise._

**To Stiles:**  
 _She knows I hate surprises. No wonder Boyd is here._

**To Derek:**  
 _Is your room locked?_

**To Stiles:**  
 _FUCK!_

An hour later, while Stiles is diligently working on a gift for Derek, since he didn’t get him anything, he gets another text.

**To Stiles:**  
 _I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. With everything._

**To Stiles:**  
 _Say something, Stiles._

**To Stiles:**  
 _I think Boyd has caught on. He’s trying to steal my phone._

**To Stiles:**  
 _Don’t fake break up with me. I like living with you._

Stiles finally relents after that, smiling despite still feeling hurt.

**To Derek:**  
 _You are fake stuck with me. Like gorilla glue. :P_

“Stiles!” Cora yells through the door, jiggling the doorknob. “Stiles, get out here right now!”

Stiles hides his gift for Derek before answering the door, peeking his face out.

“You need to go invite Isaac,” Cora says, hands on her hips.

“What? Why? He seems like he hates… being social.”

“Go and be neighborly, Stiles. It’s the right thing to do.”

“But he lives all the way _down there_ ,” Stiles whines. “Down there is dark and scary, and it smells like feet. Isaac lives near the dumpsters.”

“Stiles! Be nice and go invite this Isaac guy!” Allison admonishes, hands on her hips, too.

**To Derek:**  
 _CORA IS MAKING ME INVITE ISAAC!_

**To Stiles:**  
 _We don’t even know him but sure why not?_

When Stiles approaches Isaac’s door he’s equal parts terrified and fascinated.

The door opens and Isaac’s standing there holding a paintbrush, completely naked.

“What do you want?” Isaac all but whispers.

“My boyfriend--”

“You live together, not your boyfriend.”

“Whatever. It’s his birthday today. Do you want to come to the party?”

Isaac stands there, head tilted, contemplating before answering, “Yeah, okay,” and shutting the door in Stiles’ face.

“Well that was easy enough,” Stiles mutters, stomping back upstairs, running fast to his door to avoid Maggie, who’s coming down the stairs.

Stiles’ dad and Scott’s mom arrive an hour before the party, and they’re carrying so much food that Stiles thinks they robbed the grocery store.

“Boyd told me what Derek’s favorite foods are,” Melissa smiles, kissing Stiles on the cheek. “I’ll put the deviled eggs in the fridge.”

“Derek likes deviled eggs?” Stiles looks bewildered.

Allison and Erica stare at him, matching arched eyebrows and everything.

“How do you not know that?” Cora says. “Remember? Thanksgiving? It was his special request. Mine was carrot cake, Laura’s was pigs in a blanket.”

“I ate Thanksgiving with you guys, like, twice, Cora. That was years ago.”

Cora looks sad, fiddling with the balloon she’s trying to knot.

“Yeah well, I remember those Thanksgiving dinners even if you don’t.”

Melissa clears her throat, giving Cora a reassuring smile and rubbing her back.

“Stiles, I made you Swedish meatballs.” Melissa points at the crockpot Stiles’ dad sets on the stove, Melissa rushing over to put the burner on the right heat. “You can’t have any yet,” she scolds, smacking his hand.

“I think you went a little overboard with the food, Mel,” the sheriff comments, studiously ignoring Melissa’s glares.

Scott shows up with the cake and alcohol forty-five minutes before Derek’s supposed to arrive at seven, and he looks frazzled, to say the least.

“They spelled his last name _Hell_. I couldn’t stop laughing, and I didn’t have the heart to tell the decorator she’d messed up,” Scott says, laughing. “I think he’ll get a kick out of it, don’t you, Stiles?”

“I can’t wait to see his face,” Stiles cracks up along with everyone else.

Seven rolls around, and with it so does Derek, with Boyd. Everyone jumps out yelling Surprise! and they all know Derek knows, but no one has the heart to tell Cora. She’s just happy that her brother is happy, and that’s all that matters. Isaac shows up during the middle of dinner, and he’s wearing one of those shirts that look like a tuxedo, and his hair appears extra curly, if Stiles is being perfectly honest.

“That thing a joke?” Stiles points, ushering him inside.

“I like this shirt, asshole,” Isaac says, eyes zeroing in on all the food. “I love Swedish meatballs.”

Stiles finds Derek, eyes wide with horror, throwing his hands up as Derek silently laughs. There’s no room for everyone in their apartment, but they make do, Allison finally sitting on Scott’s lap, Erica on Boyd’s lap, and Cora sneakily taking the spot beside Isaac, sharing her chicken fried rice with him.

There’s a mountain of unwrapped presents beside Derek once he makes his way through all of them, thanking Stiles’ dad for the Swiss Army knife engraved with his initials.

“I think that’s all of them?” Allison asks Erica, who nods.

“Wait, um,” Stiles’ voice cracks, standing up awkwardly. “I have to give him mine… my present.”

“I told you not to get me anything,” Derek tells him.

“I didn’t, I made it,” Stiles simply says, disappearing into his room. He takes a deep breath taking the picture frame out of his desk drawer. He decided to make a copy of the only real picture of him and Derek, mostly because he isn’t sure if Derek even has a picture of them, and well, he wants to share it with Derek.

He walks back out, hiding the picture behind his back.

Everyone stays quiet the entire time Stiles walks over to Derek, holding the picture out to him.

“Happy Birthday, Derek Hell,” Stiles grins when everyone starts laughing.

Derek scowls at Stiles, turning the frame around staring at the picture, the memory of that day coming back to him in a rush:

_“At least pretend you like each other!” Allison demands._

_Derek wraps an arm around Stiles’ waist, gifting him with a playful side-eye look. Derek’s heart begins to race when he sees the sly little smirk on Stiles’ face, and he’s overwhelmed with the urge to kiss Stiles._

_He wants to kiss Stiles._

_He wants to kiss Stiles so bad._

_Why does he want to kiss Stiles?_

“If you don’t like it--”

Whatever Stiles was going to say, Derek will never know, because he’s standing up, expression determined as he stares at Stiles. He’s gripping the frame so hard it starts to pinch his palm, but he doesn’t care. His other hand is cupping Stiles’ face, pulling him close, so close Derek can smell cologne, soap, and meatball sauce. Derek wants to eat him up.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Derek whispers.

“I’m not going to stop you,” Stiles whispers in return.

Derek wraps both arms around Stiles, still holding onto the picture, kissing Stiles deeply, savoring the sweet taste of his mouth.

When they finally stop, Stiles feels light-headed, and there’s only one thought on his mind: he’s in love with Derek. Completely, utterly, hopelessly in love with Derek.

Later, when everyone has left, Derek presses Stiles against his bedroom door, kissing Stiles breathless, and there’s only one thought on his mind: he’s in love with Stiles. Head over heels in love with Stiles.

*

Thanksgiving comes and goes, and with it comes the heating in the apartment going bust, which has Stiles and Derek wearing scarves and gloves to bed. Maggie gets someone in to fix it as soon as possible, but not soon enough, and they know that Maggie is still bitter about not being invited to Derek’s surprise party. (They gave her the rest of the birthday cake, which healed the hurt, if only a little.)

Stiles decides to surprise Derek at work, bringing lunch and two pumpkin spice lattes.

“Hey, Erica! Before you ask--” Stiles hands her a small brown bag.

“Oh my god, this is the biggest brownie I’ve ever seen,” Erica says, already taking a big bite, moaning happily. “You’ve always been my favorite. Derek’s in his office.”

Stiles grins brightly, heart racing as he makes his way to Derek’s office. Things between him and Derek have been interesting, to say the least. The kisses during and after Derek’s party left Stiles reeling, and Stiles kept his distance because, like Derek had said, it gets confusing. They clearly like each other more than they’re saying, and Stiles knows, on his part, at least, he’s in love with Derek.

And he wants to stop playing pretend eventually.

Stiles knocks on the open door, freezing in the doorway.

Derek is dressed like Teacher Derek Hale today. Stiles missed Derek leaving for work this morning, needing to leave a little early himself to go talk with his boss at the _Gazette_. They discussed the article Stiles has been working on for weeks now, which is why he’s at Nose in A Book right now.

But _Teacher Derek Hale_. Whose hair is a little disheveled, like he’s been tugging on it either from stress or frustration, who’s wearing a white, collared shirt with the top two buttons undone, complimented with a charcoal grey vest, and black pants. And the worst part, because it really is the worst part for Stiles--

“You wear glasses?” Stiles asks, voice husky.

Derek stands up, taking his glasses off.

“Only when my contacts irritate my eyes. What are doing here?”

Derek smiles like he’s genuinely glad to see Stiles, and Stiles just wants to kiss him.

“Oh, I uh,” Stiles clears his throat. “I got us lunch and pumpkin spice lattes.”

Derek walks around the desk, stepping up to Stiles, and he almost kisses him, staring at Stiles’ wet, plump lips. He can already taste the sweetness of his tongue. They’ve been dancing around it ever since Derek’s birthday, and Derek is constantly aware of Stiles now and the space he’s taken up in Derek’s life. He’s making new memories with Stiles, and he wants to keep making them.

Stiles pants softly, waiting for Derek to kiss him. He watches Derek staring at his mouth, licking his lips, and the action makes Derek visibly clench, trying to control himself. Oh god, Stiles wants him to lose control so badly.

“Let’s eat,” Derek whispers, taking the bag from Stiles.

Stiles exhales the breath he was holding, tugging off his messenger bag, plopping down next to Derek on the leather couch by the window.

“How was the meeting?” Derek takes out two plastic containers from the bag, handing one to Stiles. “Tuna melt?” Derek smiles.

Stiles smiles back. “Had a craving, and yeah. It went well. We talked about my article and all the research I’ve pulled. Now I just have to… get the interview.”

“You’ve been so secretive about it,” Derek says, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “Who do you have to interview?”

Stiles mumbles around a bite of his tuna melt, but Derek waits, obviously knowing that Stiles is trying to deflect.

“I have to interview you,” Stiles swallows, eyes skittering nervously at Derek.

“You’re doing the article about me?”

“No, well, yes, I mean. _The Gazette_ is doing a showcase of locally owned businesses, and I picked your place because you’ve done _so much_ with this place, and you should be proud of yourself,” Stiles keeps going, nervousness replaced with giddiness. “In my research I found out this place used to be an old schoolhouse, which is a bit of a coincidence since you substitute sometimes. And then I found out a bit more on Mr. Gregory, and did you know he spent all his savings to fix this place up when he bought in 1955? And then he gave the place to you, and so many people love and depend on this place. If people want more of a selection they go to bigger cities -- yes, I interviewed a few of your customers. But people really love this place because you mix old with new, and I got a lot of suggestions about a book club because you have that empty space in the back -- why are you looking at me like that?” Stiles stops, finally taking a breath.

Derek stares in awe at Stiles, and he can’t comprehend that in the time that they’ve been living together, and all the research Stiles has been doing, that this was what he’d been working on. Derek’s ashamed of himself for even thinking that Stiles was just sitting around, being lazy, probably photoshopping pictures of dogs and cats together. Derek has underestimated so many things about Stiles, this, most of all.

“I’m sorry,” Derek blurts out.

“What? Why? You didn’t do anything, why are you sorry?”

“I assumed you were sitting on your ass all day doing nothing.” Derek’s still staring at Stiles, shaking his head. “I’d come home and see you sitting in front of your computer, and I’d grit my teeth and think, wow, I wish I could sit on my ass all day. No worries, no stress.”

Stiles swallows back the sour taste in his mouth, and he can’t fault Derek; it’s a fair assumption.

“Well, I mean, I’m able to… work at home…”

“Stiles, no, I’m not -- I am blown away. You’re one of the most impressive people I know, I’m serious. You were impressive in high school, yes, I noticed. You weren’t a salutatorian for nothing. And then you went on to get a degree in criminology--”

“Criminal justice with a concentration in criminal… criminal theory, I mean, please continue.”

Stiles looks down, blushing, and Derek can’t help but smile at him.

“Stiles, I never _ever_ want you to think that --” Derek clears his throat, feeling slightly embarrassed now. “I never ever want you to think that I think you’re stupid.” Derek peeks at Stiles over the rim of his glasses. “I think you’re amazing, Stiles. And this? Your research and this article about me? It’s amazing and I’d be happy to give you an interview.”

Before Stiles can respond Erica walks in, slamming the door behind her.

“Jennifer’s here.”

It feels like all the air has been sucked from the room. Derek slowly but calmly stands up, steeling himself, looking back at Stiles.

“Don’t leave, please.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Stiles frowns.

When Derek’s gone, Erica looks at her watch, foot tapping on the floor like she’s counting.

“Okay, come on, we’re going to listen.”

“Wait, what?! Erica, we can’t!”

Erica waves at him to shut up, dragging a finger across her neck, and Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up as if to say, _you’re going to kill me if I talk?_ And the scary thing is, Stiles thinks she probably would kill him.

“Someone wants to buy our place,” a soft, husky voice says.

“You came all the way here just to tell me that?”

Derek stands behind the counter, back stiff, arms folded over his chest. Stiles has the urge to walk over to him and rub his back, but then the dark-haired woman is speaking again.

“The realtor needs us to sign the deed over,” she says, coy smile tugging on her lips. “Makes it official, Derek.”

“Fine,” Derek snaps, snatching the paperwork from her.

“You look good, Derek. I’ve missed you.”

“Stop, Jennifer. Don’t start, just don’t.”

“I’m only telling you that you look good, Derek.”

Derek shoves the paperwork at her. “You can go now.”

Jennifer steps up behind the counter, standing close to Derek.

“Don’t you fucking do it,” Erica seethes.

Jennifer slides a hand down Derek’s cheek, placing a gentle kiss there.

“Take care of yourself, Derek.” And then Jennifer is gone.

“Quick, quick! Back to the office!” Erica whispers, shoving Stiles back down the hallway.

Stiles has a million questions running through his mind, but the only one he wants an answer to is: what exactly happened between Jennifer and Derek? He tries to ask Erica, but she tells him exactly what Allison told him months ago, “It’s not my story to tell.”

Derek comes back and Stiles can tell his good mood is gone and Stiles is angry at Jennifer for that, for making the smile disappear from Derek’s face.

“I have to sub this afternoon,” Derek says somberly, gaze fixed on Stiles. “I’ll see you at home, okay?”

Stiles nods, picking up his messenger bag. And maybe he wants to help Derek forget Jennifer, and maybe he wants Derek to know that he saw everything, which is why he steps up to Derek, caressing his cheek, placing a soft, lingering kiss there. Right where Jennifer had.

Derek tips his chin down, taking a ragged breath.

“Don’t let your coffee get cold,” Stiles murmurs.

Just as Stiles is closing the door, Erica’s wrapping her arms around Derek, hugging him tight.

**

Derek can’t concentrate.

Each one of his senses are on Sensory Stiles Overload, and he’s speeding his way home, desperate to see him, touch him, taste him, _everything_. He’s tired of pretending, and tonight he needs all of Stiles.

When he gets inside the apartment Stiles isn’t there to greet him, but he can hear music coming from Stiles’ room. He drops his bag and his coat, stalking to the door.

Stiles doesn’t hear the door open, doesn’t hear Derek’s footsteps, but he feels hands on his hips, arms sliding around his waist, lips kissing his bare shoulder.

“Derek,” Stiles whispers, turning around in Derek’s arms. “What’re you--”

Derek places his hands on either side of Stiles’ neck.

“I had a bad day and then Jennifer showed up and I just had a bad day.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Derek shakes his head, gripping Stiles’ neck.

“Give me a great end to a bad day, Stiles.”

“I don’t--”

Derek silences him with a kiss, mouth molding to Stiles’, like their mouths were made to fit each other. Stiles parts his lips to take a breath, but Derek needs to taste him, tongue sweeping into Stiles’ mouth, making him whimper. He can feel Stiles’ fingers digging into his biceps, clinging to him like he’s clinging to Stiles. Derek isn’t sure how long they kiss, but when they pull apart his mouth is numb, and Stiles’ look just as kiss-swollen.

“I want you so much, Stiles,” Derek breathes against Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles’ legs almost give out and he tightens his arms around Derek, hanging on for dear life.

“You’re in a vulnerable place right now, Derek, I can’t--”

“Don’t fucking say that,” Derek says fiercely, grabbing Stiles’ face in his hands. “I’ve wanted you since you asked me where the glasses were. I’ve never stopped wanting you, Stiles.” Derek rests his forehead to Stiles’. “I don’t know why I never told you, and I don’t know why I didn’t tell you before we moved in together, but I’m telling you now.”

This is way too much information for Stiles to process. He feels like he’s just jumped off a cliff and he can’t stop falling. There’s no end and Stiles needs there to be an end, because Derek is breaking him apart right now, and each piece that’s put back is Derek telling him he wants him, has always wanted him. And Stiles doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Oh god, Derek, why are you… where is this…?”

“I can’t pretend anymore, Stiles. If I continue to walk around here pretending like I don’t want you,” Derek nips at Stiles’ lips, “like I don’t want to lay you down and kiss each and every part of your body,” he coaxes Stiles’ mouth open, kissing him slowly, stopping to nip some more, “then I’m lying to myself. I want you.”

“ _Fuck_ , Derek, why didn’t we fucking say something sooner?” Stiles groans, tugging at Derek for another kiss. “Derek, Derek, Derek,” Stiles smiles, laughing. “I think I wanted you since you told me not to drink your orange juice. I wanted you even more the first time we kissed,” Stiles goes in for another one, sighing into Derek’s mouth. “You feel so good in my arms right now, and I’ve spent so long wondering what that’d feel like, and now I know, and I’m fucking terrified.”

“You smell so good,” Derek nuzzles his face into Stiles’ neck.

“Just took a shower.” Stiles tips his head back and Derek’s mouth latches on, sucking right over the pulse point. Stiles shudders, fingers pulling on Derek’s clothes.

“Off, _God_. I want to touch you.”

Stiles attacks Derek’s mouth, fingers pulling Derek’s shirt out of his pants, making quick work of the buttons on his vest, throwing it to the floor. Derek pulls away from Stiles’ mouth, smiling lazily, licking his lips.

“Fuck, you’re so sexy,” Stiles growls, almost ripping Derek’s shirt to get it off, hands finally touching warm skin, and it’s more than Stiles imagined.

“You… are so beautiful,” Stiles smiles, cupping Derek’s face.

Derek wraps his arms around Stiles.

“So are you,” Derek says. “Keep going.”

Derek brings Stiles’ hands to his pants, and Stiles is already popping open the button, pulling down the zipper. Derek’s hands slide inside Stiles’ sweatpants, squeezing his ass, making an appreciative noise, doing it again.

Stiles’ eyes flutter shut, licking his lips.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of doing this,” Derek nips Stiles’ chin.

“We’ve only just started,” Stiles says, opening his eyes. “But I know what you mean.” He drops to his knees, looking up at Derek, fingers gripping the waistband of Derek’s pants, pulling them down slowly, drinking him in. Derek toes his shoes off, kicking his pants away, shoes stuck in the bottoms, standing there waiting for Stiles’ next move. Stiles presses his face into Derek’s belly, nuzzling there and kissing his bellybutton, hands rubbing the backs of his thighs.

Derek watches him, gently raking his fingers through Stiles’ hair. Stiles licks Derek through his briefs, fingers digging into his thighs.

“Stiles,” Derek breathes out, holding him against his groin. He can feel the heat of Stiles’ mouth, and Stiles still hasn’t moved his briefs down. Derek’s in for so much more if Stiles doing this is nearly enough to bring him to his knees.

Stiles licks and licks until he can feel Derek getting hard, rubbing his palm on Derek’s balls. He licks and nips on the ridges of Derek’s cock, fingers pulling on his briefs just enough to see the tip peeking out through the slit, shiny and wet. Stiles breathes heavily, lips sucking gently on the tip, looking up at Derek.

Derek’s chin is touching his chest, and he’s breathing raggedly, one hand cupping the back of Stiles’ head, holding him steady. Stiles feels anchored, the sure, gentle way Derek holds Stiles, but he can sense the raw need thrumming under the surface.

Stiles stands back up slowly, fingers trailing up and down Derek’s chest and abdomen, reveling in the fact that he can do this, that he’s _allowed_ to touch Derek now.

“Touch me,” Stiles kisses Derek. “Please touch me,” Stiles begs.

Derek turns them around, push-walking Stiles to the bed until Stiles drops, sprawling out, and Derek’s right there, kneeling between his legs. Stiles pushes down his sweatpants just as Derek’s fingers catch on the waistband, pulling them off. He immediately presses every inch of his body against Stiles’, rolling his hips down.

“Fuck yes,” Stiles moans, arching up.

Derek peppers kisses along Stiles’ collarbone, tilting his head back to lick and nip his throat, kissing his way down his abdomen, nosing in the dark hair that’s a direct line to Stiles’ very obvious erection. Stiles stretches his arms above his head, hips undulating as Derek’s mouth sucks bruises on the inside of his thighs. He moans loudly when Derek’s clever tongue licks his aching cock, sliding a foot along Derek’s calf, fingers tangling in his hair.

Stiles feels Derek’s hands moving up his chest, feels the heavy weight of his hips settling against his own, and he never wants this to stop. Never wants to not feel Derek’s hands on him. Derek cups his cheek and Stiles turns his head, kissing his palm, sucking Derek’s thumb into his mouth.

“ _Ohh_ ,” Derek shudders when Stiles bites on the meaty part of his palm, sucking each of Derek’s fingers into his deliciously wet mouth. He leans down capturing Stiles’ mouth in a hard kiss, helping Stiles to finally push off his briefs, kicking them away with a foot.

They gasp at the same time, stilling, staring at one another.

Stiles moves first, their cocks sliding together, and then Derek’s moving to join him, trying to find a rhythm. Derek grips them both, thumb brushing over the head of his own cock and then Stiles’. Stiles feels good in his hand, stroking him slowly while rubbing himself off on Stiles’ hip. Stiles starts to moan, biting down on his lower lip.

“Yeah, _yeah_ , fuck, Derek,” Stiles moans, fucking himself into Derek’s firm grip.

Stiles’ hand finds Derek’s dick, watching the foreskin slide back and forth.

“Fuck, c’mere,” Stiles demands.

Derek shifts so that Stiles can get a hand around him, groaning at the expertise of Stiles’ strokes. Stiles watches, rapt, as the foreskin pulls back,while he squeezes hard around the base of Derek’s cock.

Quickly enough, they’re back to rubbing off on one another, frenzied kisses as they moan and pant in each other’s mouths, finding the right rhythm as their cocks slide together. Derek’s knees begin to burn, but he ignores them, feeling way too fucking good at the moment to care. Stiles looks beautiful and fucked out under him, sucking on Derek’s thumb, spreading his legs wider.

“More, faster,” Stiles pants.

Derek curls a hand into a pillow, knees sliding along the bed as he picks up the pace. His cock pulses, balls heavy and ready to come, but it feels too good to stop; Stiles feels too good to stop. Stiles starts to get antsy though, skin itching, and he wants to come so bad, but it feels so fucking good.

“Derek--”

“Stiles--”

Stiles moves faster, delirious with pleasure, rocking his hips up as Derek rocks down. Their cocks feel so good, so heavy, as they slide together, rhythm going clumsy as they both work each other into a frenzy to find release.

“I’m… I’m coming,” Derek chokes out, thrusting once, twice, spilling all over Stiles’ belly.

Stiles whines, eyes rolling up, and Derek helps him out to get to his own release, wrapping a hand around both their cocks, still recovering from his own orgasm.

“Come on, Stiles, come on…” Derek whispers in Stiles’ ear, nipping his earlobe.

The air punches out of Stiles, toes curling so hard they pop, coming hot and ropey over Derek’s fist, which milks every drop from Stiles that it can.

“Stop, stop,” Stiles whispers, pushing Derek’s hand away.

Derek collapses on top of Stiles, who has starfished out under him.

“That was fucking _awesome_ ,” Stiles slurs, smiling sleepily.

Derek grins, kissing Stiles’ sweaty chest, pinching Stiles’ nipple.

“Very funny,” Stiles grunts.

They lie there, sated and sweaty, until Derek starts to pull away from Stiles. He frowns, fingers encircling Derek’s wrist, tugging him back.

“Why are you leaving?”

“Getting something to clean us up,” Derek presses a soft kiss to Stiles’ mouth, “I don’t plan on sleeping alone tonight.”

Stiles relaxes, grinning into his pillow.

“Well, hurry up; I’m cold and I miss you already.”

Derek disappears into Stiles’ bathroom and Stiles lies there, eyes closed, listening to the running water and remembering everything that just happened. He hasn’t felt like this in a long time, unequivocally happy and head over heels in love that he feels like he’ll never stop smiling.  
“Open your legs,” Derek says softly, the bed dipping under his weight.

Stiles hums contentedly while Derek gently cleans him up, making grabby hands at Derek until he’s got him pressed down on his body, mouth meeting Derek’s in a slow, lazy kiss. Stiles hooks a leg around Derek, rolling them over, taking the washcloth from Derek, meticulously cleaning Derek up, too, and he might get distracted, stroking Derek’s cock through the washcloth.

“Stiles,” Derek sighs, spreading his legs for him.

Stiles watches him intently, tossing aside the washcloth, crawling up the bed to get the bottle of lube out of his nightstand.

Derek reaches out sliding a hand over Stiles’ ass, squeezing hard.

“But we just got clean,” Derek gasps when he feels the first cool drop of lube on his cock. “That’s really cold,” Derek glares at Stiles.

“Oh don’t worry, you’ll be warm soon enough,” Stiles smirks, gripping one hand around the base of Derek’s cock, the other already stroking him slowly, working up a nice rhythm.

The next few minutes are pretty much a blur to Derek. Stiles’ strokes are quick, but confident, and he pays attention to every move and noise Derek makes, like he’s remembering for next time. Because if Derek has anything to say about there will be a next time, and hopefully even more after that.

Derek arches up, back popping when he does and he groans. Stiles makes sure that Derek can’t move his hips too much, and the pressure in Derek’s groin keeps building, warmth spreading up his chest, heart fit to burst.

Stiles squirts a bit more lube, hands slippery, still gripping Derek at the base, his other hand picking up the pace, watching Derek closely, waiting.

Derek squirms under Stiles’ sure hands, throwing his head back, feet slipping on the bed as he tries to move his hips.

“Come on, Derek,” Stiles coaxes, fingers moving gracefully as he keeps stroking, thumb rubbing over the slit. His mouth waters wanting to taste Derek, but later, right now he wants to watch Derek come apart.

Derek’s thighs clench as he starts to quiver, mouth parting and then opening wide, and as Stiles watches him, he thinks about all the times he fantasized about this. The real thing, he thinks, fingers squeezing on each upstroke, is so much better.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Derek groans, mouth open as he stares up at the ceiling. It hits him fast, his whole body convulsing, knuckles white as he grips Stiles’ blankets, gulping and gasping for breath. Derek can hear Stiles praising him, still pumping his cock, slowly now, and he feels like he’s out of his body. He feels loose and fucked out, and Derek can’t help it when he starts laughing. Stiles’ face looms above him and Derek pulls him down for a kiss, still catching his breath but desperate for Stiles’ mouth.

“You are so fucking sexy when you come,” Stiles mumbles against Derek’s mouth, both of them grinning.

“Mmn, so are you,” Derek practically purrs, licking his lips. “Nap time?”

“Yeah, definitely nap time,” Stiles pecks him on the mouth. “Let me clean you up, again.”

By the time Stiles cleans Derek up, they’re both ready for sleep, burrowing under Stiles’ blankets, Derek spooning up behind Stiles, kissing his shoulder. Derek falls asleep with a smile on his face, knowing that in the morning, he won’t be waking up alone.

*

Stiles has been awake for twenty minutes watching Derek sleep.

He drags a finger down the slope of Derek’s nose, across his mouth, tiptoeing his fingers down Derek’s back, forehead wrinkling in confusion.

“You’d stop for?” Derek groans sleepily, burying his face in the pillow.

“You have a tattoo?” Stiles traces the black swirls spanning the space between Derek’s shoulder blades. “How come you never told me?”

“You didn’t ask?”

“I’m asking now.”

Derek shrugs, looking blearily up at Stiles, still trying to wake up.

“Got it after I left Beacon Hills. I always wanted a tattoo, and after I left, I wanted to do something… outrageous. Something that would jumpstart my road to self-discovery.”

Stiles thought about getting a tattoo in Amsterdam, thinking along the same line as Derek, telling Derek that, still tracing Derek’s tattoo.

“Needles?” Derek chuckles.

“Still terrify me,” Stiles laughs. “And, you know, blood. Makes me squeamish. I’m such a wimp.” Stiles rests his chin on Derek’s shoulder, transfixed at the design.

“What does it mean?”

“It’s too early for a history lesson, but it has many meanings, in different cultures, especially. It means something different to everyone. For me it means life, love, and loyalty.”

“That’s really beautiful,” Stiles says. “It’s beautiful, Derek.” Stiles lies back down beside Derek, lacing his fingers with Derek’s, squeezing.

“Are you ready to talk about yesterday?”

Derek sighs heavily, squeezing Stiles’ hand in return.

“Let’s make some breakfast, and I’ll talk?” Derek suggests, kissing Stiles’ fingers.

“Deal,” Stiles smiles.

They separate to get dressed, and it’s weird considering they spent all night and most of the morning together. Stiles isn’t sure where things are going to go from here, but he’s hopeful, he has to be or he’ll go crazy thinking the worst.

Derek’s already frying bacon by the time Stiles walks out of his room.

“This is so fucking domestic,” Stiles laughs, coming up behind Derek wrapping his arms around him. “Can I have a piece of bacon?”

“No, not yet,” Derek smacks Stiles’ hand and then his ass. “I said no. I’m about to scramble the eggs, so you get going on the toast.”

Stiles gets a little playful, still trying to steal a piece of bacon, but each time Derek stops him with a smack on the ass. Derek seems to catch on, though, smacking Stiles’ ass just to do it. Stiles startles but moans a little, biting his lip when Derek squeezes his ass.

“Well, this is brand new information,” Derek chuckles.

Stiles coughs, blushing furiously, but smiling.

By the time the food is done and they’re sitting at their tiny table, Stiles sips his coffee carefully, waiting for Derek to speak first. Jennifer is Derek’s story to tell, and Stiles is there to listen.

“I was living with Boyd when I met Jennifer. She came into the shop looking for a birthday present for her grandmother. We hit it off immediately having a mutual interest in British literature. She had just been hired as the new English-lit teacher at the high school, and she remembered my name on the substitute list.”

Stiles listens closely, watching the different emotions play across Derek’s face. He goes into enough detail that Stiles doesn’t feel the need to interrupt or ask Derek to explain further, and Stiles knows that’s the point. From listening to the way Derek’s talking, she was clearly someone important to Derek, for a little while, anyway. Derek talks about their decision to move in together, how it was Jennifer’s idea, and Derek tells Stiles how apprehensive he was, because he didn’t know if he felt committed enough for such a big decision.

“I mean, I loved her. I told her six months into us dating. I knew it was fast, and saying those three words, you better mean them, you know?”

“I know.” Stiles nods.

“But she wanted to move in six months into us dating, and we both only just really admitted how we felt about one another. I knew, somehow, that we’d crash and burn.”

Stiles recalls what Scott told him: _“It should be a mutual thing. Both of you should want it.”_

“We argued a lot, about nothing. We disagreed about little things, like who would go grocery shopping each week. We were terrible at living together, and it killed our relationship.” Derek rubs the back of his neck, taking a deep breath.

“Hey.” Stiles touches his arm. “I’m right here.”

Derek nods, giving Stiles a weak smile.

“So I ended up making excuses to stay later at the shop, and she told me she was looking into job offers from San Diego and Los Angeles.” Derek eats another piece of bacon, taking another deep breath. “I came home from work one night to her flat out asking me, ‘What are we doing, Derek?’”

Stiles squeezes Derek’s hand.

“And we, just talked. For the first time in a long time we talked. She told me she accepted an offer in San Diego, and that was that.” Derek rubs his chin. “Funny thing is, I never told her I was planning to end things.” Derek smiles at Stiles. “I got your email two days before then.”

Stiles’ eyes go wide, pulling his hand away.

“Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack. In a way, you gave me that little push to look at my life and go, is this what I want? Do I want to keep being with someone who feels like they have to put up with me? So I told myself I’d break it off with her, but, she sort of beat me to it.”

“Funny how I had made the choice to come home,” Stiles shakes his head laughing and scratching his cheek. “That’s… unbelievable. Thank you, for opening up to me about all of this. I know it wasn’t easy.”

“You had a right to know,” Derek says, “especially after how much we opened up to each other last night.”

“We have a lot to talk about,” Stiles grins, suddenly giddy at the idea.

“We really do, but I have to get ready for work.” Derek kisses Stiles on the forehead. “Promise to talk later?”

Stiles pulls him down for a thorough kiss, pouring as much into it as he can, everything Stiles feels for Derek and has been feeling, hoping Derek can sense it. He must, if the way he refuses to break away from the kiss is any indication, Stiles smiling against his mouth.

“Cross my heart,” Stiles whispers.

**

After working on a rough draft for his article, and making a post-it to remind Derek about the interview, Stiles decides to take a break. He waves at Maggie on the stairs, not missing the knowing wink she throws his way, running into Isaac as he walks towards the mailboxes.

“Hey, man!” Stiles grins, throwing him a wave.

“You look different,” Isaac notes, squinting. “You had sex.”

Stiles splutters, pushing past Isaac to get to his and Derek’s mailbox, shooting glares at Isaac, who remains oblivious to his embarrassment.

“Would you like a donut?”

“What kind?” Stiles asks suspiciously.

“I have jelly, glazed, and Boston Kreme,” Isaac ticks off.

So that’s how Stiles ends up in Isaac’s apartment, eating his weight in donuts.

“Dude, you painted your _entire apartment_ as a mural,” Stiles looks around, shaking his head. “I still can’t believe it, I didn’t believe it when I walked in. What’s with the wolf motif?”

“Wolves are some of the most protective and loyal creatures. I love wolves.”

Stiles spies a familiar symbol painted above a full moon.

“Derek has that tattooed on his back.”

Isaac looks over his shoulder.

“The triskelion, or triskele in some cultures, has many meanings. Both are from the Greek _triskelion_ or _triskeles_ meaning three-legged, three times. It’s characteristic of Celtic art of the La Tene culture from the European Iron Age,” Isaac states plainly, finishing his jelly donut.

“Holy shit, dude.” Stiles stares at him. “You’re fucking awesome.”

“In Sicily,” Isaac takes a drink of milk, “the triskelion is called _trinacria_. It has many modern uses now, but when Christianity came to Ireland before the fifth century, it took on the meaning of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

“Is that what it means for you?” Stiles asks, mouth full of Boston Kreme delight.

“No, here on my mural, the symbol means alpha, beta, and omega. Hence, the wolf motif.”

Stiles stares around, completely awed.

“You’re officially the coolest dude ever.”

Stiles leaves before he eats anymore donuts, although Isaac doesn’t seem to mind or care. He notices that Isaac seems happy to have someone to share his mural with and his donuts.

“If you ever want to hang out--”

“I don’t, but thank you for offering. Next time I feel like sharing donuts I’ll let you know.”

Stiles laughs, nodding and patting Isaac on the back.

“I will gladly eat all the donuts you have.”

“Um, St--Stiles? Will you… will you tell Cora I said hello?”

Stiles smiles warmly at him. “Sure thing, Isaac.”

When Stiles heads back upstairs, belly full and feeling great about seeing Derek later, his world comes crashing down when he sees a familiar face outside his apartment.

“ _Gale?_ ”

“Stiles,” Gale smiles, eyes glinting mischievously. “Did you miss me? I missed you.”

“You’re… you’re supposed to be in Amsterdam, Gale. Not here. Not in California. How did you even find me?”

“Your friend, Scott, is it? I looked him up, and he was all too kind to tell me where you live.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Stiles growls.

Gale walks up to Stiles, sliding a hand up Stiles’ chest. Stiles feels like throwing up all the donuts he just devoured.

“I missed you,” Gale whispers.

Stiles swallows hard, squeezing his eyes shut, because that goddamn accent still makes him shiver, and he _doesn’t want it to_. He doesn’t want this. He wants Derek, and his big, warm hands holding Stiles’ face as his lips kiss his mouth, those deep, knee-buckling kisses and Stiles wants one so bad right now. He _wants_ Derek.

“You need to leave.” Stiles opens his eyes, voice firm. “I have a boyfriend.”

Gale rolls his eyes.

“Well, may I at least use your facilities?

Stiles had forgotten how snobbish Gale can be, ushering him inside the apartment.

“You can use mine,” Stiles points toward his room. “Back there.”

Stiles is distracting himself washing dishes from breakfast earlier when he feels Gale behind him, kissing his neck.

“ _Stop_ ,” Stiles says angrily. “I told you I have a boyfriend. Go back to Amsterdam, Gale.”

“Just _one_ little kiss, Stiles,” Gale leans in, brushing his lips gently against Stiles’.

Stiles is hit with the stale smell of Gale’s cologne, the wrongness of his mouth on Stiles’, and then Stiles sees Derek and he feels his heart drop to his stomach.

“Derek!” Stiles shoves Gale away. “Derek, wait!” Stiles catches up to him, grabbing his arm.

“I’m staying at Boyd’s tonight,” Derek says, back still facing Stiles.

“Don’t… Let me explain, Derek.”

What Stiles hears next almost breaks his heart, and he’s close to crying.

“--This, us, it’s all a ruse,” Derek says.

“You’ll come back, tomorrow. To talk. Tell me you’ll come back.”

“Sure,” Derek nods. “Tomorrow.”

*

Derek only means to stay with Boyd for a few days, but a few days turns into two weeks.

Luckily, Boyd kept a few of Derek’s things from when they lived together, so Derek has clothes and a toothbrush, at least. He reads every text from Stiles, and he knows he’s being immature, but it still fucking hurts. He doesn’t reply back to any of the texts, though.

**To Derek:**  
 _It’s day five. It’s not tomorrow. You’re not here. You need to be here._

**To Derek:**  
 _Please don’t do this, Derek. Please come back._

**

The third day was hard. Stiles took comfort in sleeping in Derek’s bed, wrapping up in his smell, even wearing one of Derek’s sweaters.

The eighth day, Stiles wakes up crying. But Scott, brilliant and amazing best friend that he is, shows up and tells Stiles he’s staying with him for a little while.

When it hits the two-week mark, Stiles tells Scott the truth. About everything.

“Are you in love with him?”

“I think I’ve always been in love with him, Scott. My heart was just waiting for me to catch up.”

**

“Are you in love with him?” Boyd asks.

“I think I’ve always been in love with him. My heart just needed to find its way.”

It’s been two weeks and Derek is going out of his mind. He gets up, gets dressed, goes to work, comes back to Boyd’s. Rinse and repeat. There are things at the apartment Derek needs, and with Erica’s stealthy help, she’s able to get his work bag from the apartment. (“Stiles went to Isaac’s. No, I don’t know why.”)

He wakes up in the middle of the night and sometimes he can’t breathe. That one night they shared together and Derek is already ruined for Stiles, arms aching to hold him, hands dying to touch him, lips craving his taste. He needs to hug Stiles.

Erica comes marching out of Boyd’s bedroom in nothing but a red negligee, glaring daggers at Derek, who’s curled up on the couch.

“Go home, Derek.”

“Erica!” Boyd comes rushing out, breathing heavily.

“It’s our three-month anniversary, Derek, and I want to ride my man like a stallion. I can’t do that when you’re out here moping.”

“Oh god,” Boyd mutters under his breath.

Derek blinks at Erica.

“Happy Anniversary,” Derek says, standing up and scratching his face.

“Thank you,” Erica sniffs, arms folded under her boobs making them bulge out.

Derek arches an eyebrow at Boyd.

“I love you, man, but she’s my queen, and we need this night to ourselves.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Derek smiles at them. “ _Thank you_ , both of you. For everything.”

Erica gives Derek a fierce, lingering hug, kissing him on the cheek.

“If you fuck this up with Stiles I will burn your bookshop to the ground. I don’t care how many times you say you guys were pretending, you weren’t. There’s not a moment in both your lives when you two didn’t want to be together.”

“Erica--”

“Derek, I wasn’t friends with them until senior year. But we all knew, we knew that one day you guys would get your acts together and stop pussyfooting around the obvious.”

Derek swallows, lifting his gaze to Erica’s determined one.

“And what was obvious, Erica?”

“Go home, Derek. Go home and look at the picture of you and him at graduation, and tell me you two aren’t _stupidly_ in love.”

After two weeks, Derek finally goes home; he only hopes Stiles is still there.

**

Stiles hears the front door open and close, and he automatically assumes it’s Scott coming to check on him. Stiles is fine, except that he’s still sleeping in Derek’s bed every night, and the apartment is a wreck, and he’s been eating a lot of donuts, but Isaac doesn’t ask questions, he doesn’t push for information, and Stiles appreciates that.

Derek’s door opens and Stiles waits for Scott to say what he’s brought for dinner.

“Hey, Scotty.” Stiles rolls over, blinking in surprise.

“Not Scotty,” Cora says, “now move over.”

Stiles makes room for her when he realizes that she’s in Derek’s room.

_Cora is in Derek’s room._

“How did you--”

“Know that you’d be in here?” Cora smirks. “We’re friends with the same people, and Erica just had to tell me everything, because my brother is an idiot and the guy he’s in love with is an even bigger idiot.”

“I don’t think I want to cuddle with you.”

Cora takes her jacket off, climbing right into bed with Stiles, sitting up against the headboard.

“Come on,” Cora says, patting her lap.

When Stiles puts his head on Cora’s lap, it’s as though everything he’s been feeling the last two weeks, the last few years, hits him like a slap in the face. And he cries, gasping for breath as he clings to Cora, her fingers stroking his hair.

“Why are you crying, Stiles?” Cora asks gently. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I don’t know,” Stiles croaks. “I just miss him. A lot.”

“He loves you, Stiles, you know that, right?”

“You guys keep saying that--”

“Because it’s true, Stiles.”

Stiles’ phone vibrates somewhere under all the blankets and pillows, and when Cora finds it, she reads the screen, smiling and handing it to him.

**To Stiles:**  
 _Coming home._

Cora stays with Stiles, stroking his hair, telling him how she’s thinking of going for a Master’s Degree in Illustration.

“In England?” Stiles interjects.

“Still giving it a lot of thought, Stiles.”

The door opens and closes again, and Stiles listens to the heavy footfalls walking to Stiles’ room, and he holds his breath until--

“Stiles, are you in -- Hey, Cora?”

Stiles looks up at Cora before unburying himself from all the blankets, turning around to face Derek, and after two weeks of not seeing him, Stiles sees that he looks just as ragged.

“You look fuzzier,” Stiles says, crawling off the bed.

“You’re wearing my sweater.” Derek steps closer.

“That’s my cue to leave,” Cora says loudly, grabbing her jacket. “Call me if either of you need me.”

Stiles throws his arms around Cora, hugging her tight, whispering, “Thank you.” When she leaves, Stiles rounds on Derek and shoves him hard into his dresser. “You just… you fucking left, Derek! Are you going to do that everytime it gets rough? Are you just going to walk away from me? From us?”

“Stiles--”

“You fucking _left_ , Derek!”

“I know I did, Stiles!” Derek shouts over him. “I left you.”

“You _promised_ me you’d come back. I was going to explain everything.”

“You were kissing someone else, Stiles!”

“I didn’t want him kissing me, Derek!”

“You tried so hard to stop him.”

“He’s not fucking here is he?” Stiles snaps, fingers flexing.

“I came home, and I’d been waiting to talk to you, about us.”

“Derek, you don’t think I wasn’t waiting? I’ve been waiting… I’d been waiting for a long time.”

Stiles isn’t ready to give in yet, and he’s ready for a fight.

“You have to see it from my side, Stiles,” Derek says, taking a tentative step closer. “After the conversation we had that morning, after opening up to you--”

“You really fucking thought,” Stiles seethes, shoving Derek again. “That after you opened up to me, after everything we’ve been through, I’d drop you that fast? That I’d want to kiss someone else?”

Derek looks away, swallowing.

“You’re supposed to trust me, Derek. Have a little fucking faith.”

They’re both quiet for a few minutes.

“So,” Derek says, “what happened to him? Who was he?”

“His name is Gale,” Stiles sighs, “and he’s back in Amsterdam, where he belongs.”

Something clicks in Derek’s memory.

“That was the guy you spent, how did you put it? ‘More time _in bed_ with than _out of bed_?’” Derek sneers, rolling his eyes.

Stiles punches Derek in the face, hissing and holding his hand against his chest.

“Fuck! That hurt a lot more than I expected.”

“What the _fuck_ , Stiles?”

“You don’t get to treat me like that, Derek! I didn’t cheat on you, I didn’t do anything to hurt you, I didn’t want Gale kissing me, and I certainly didn’t ask him to come here. Even breathing the same air as him made my skin crawl. I wanted you. I wanted you to walk up the stairs and make him leave, I wanted you touching me, not him. Why can’t you see that?”

Derek tongues his lip and he’s speechless, looking everywhere but at Stiles.

“Say something, Derek!” Stiles says, frustrated.

“I love you, Stiles!” Derek blurts out, breathing hard. “I love you, Stiles. I think I’ve loved you since you were fifteen, which is a little weird because I was twenty, but that’s… that’s not the point. I fucking love you, Stiles. I didn’t cry. In the two weeks I wasn’t with you, I didn’t cry, but I look at you and I know you’ve been crying, and that fucking tears me up. I made you cry, and I hate that. I never wanted to be a reason you cried.”

Stiles stares at him.

“What did you say?” Stiles whispers.

Derek closes the distance between them, hands curling into Stiles’ sweater, _his sweater_ , cupping Stiles’ face in his hands and Stiles slumps against him. Derek kisses him, and this kiss should have been their first kiss. Derek should have kissed Stiles years ago; he should have kissed him after he graduated. Stiles looked great that day, like a man who knew he was about to conquer the world before him.

They pant against each other’s mouths, and each time Stiles changes the angle Derek meets him, kissing him harder, deeper, the sweet taste of Stiles’ tongue touching his making him moan, sliding his hands under the sweater, desperate to touch Stiles’ skin, desperate for more.  
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Derek says over and over.

“I love you too, oh my god, Derek,” Stiles sobs happily, squeezing his arms around Derek. “I love you so much and if you ever leave again I’ll find you and kill you.”

Derek buries his face in Stiles’ neck, relief flooding through him, and he knows they still have a way to go until they’re really okay, but this is a start. He feels Stiles trying to open his pants, laughing against Stiles’ neck.

“What are you doing?” Derek murmurs, somehow knowing the answer.

“I want you to fuck me, Derek.” Stiles kisses him hard. “Enough talking, okay? I just want you to fuck me.”

There’s a frenzy of movement as they rush to get their clothes off, and they end up scattered all over Derek’s room, and the second Stiles gets his socks off he jumps on Derek, wrapping his legs around him. Derek lifts Stiles under his thighs, holding him easily, walking them to the bed and collapsing on it in a tangle of limbs.

Derek starts kissing his way down Stiles’ chest, but Stiles’ fingers claw and tug at his hair.

“No,” Stiles whines. “We have plenty of time for that, Derek, just fuck me.”

Derek’s gaze darkens and he takes Stiles’ hands, pressing them down in the mattress above Stiles’ head, rolling his hips into Stiles’.

“Want me to fuck you, Stiles?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Stiles grits out.

“Don’t move,” Derek whispers against Stiles’ mouth. He opens the drawer of his nightstand pulling out the lube and a condom, sitting up as he uncaps the bottle and looks down at Stiles.

“Open me up, Derek,” Stiles keeps his hands above his head, arching up, spreading his legs for Derek. “Come on, I need it, need you.”

Derek gets the lube warm on his fingers, stroking Stiles’ cock a few times just to get him hard, and then he pushes a finger in deep, fingering him slowly at first, adding one more when Stiles begs him.

“Fuck yeah.” Stiles rocks his hips down, mouth open as he fucks himself on Derek’s fingers. “Oh god, deeper, harder. Harder, Derek.”

Derek squirts more lube on his fingers, shushing Stiles when he starts whining, pressing his fingers back in, holding Stiles’ hips down, finger fucking him harder.

Stiles’ vision begins to blur, licking his lips dazedly, moaning each time Derek’s fingers hit his prostate, and he can’t take it anymore, he needs Derek fucking him _now_.

“Derek,” Stiles moans, “fuck me.” He wraps his legs around him. “Fuck me right now.”

Derek wastes no time lubing his cock up, stroking himself as he watches Stiles’ body arch and undulate, and God, Derek can’t wait to be inside him, finally getting the condom rolled on. He squirts more lube on his dick, steadily stroking himself as he leans in closer.

“Wanna ride you,” Stiles whispers, digging his toes into Derek’s thighs. “Roll over and let me ride you.”

“Fuck,” Derek moans, leaning down to kiss Stiles breathless, pulling away with a smack of lips. He stretches out on his back, stroking his cock as Stiles situates himself on his lap. Stiles scoots back a little more, pushing Derek’s hand away, reaching back to guide Derek’s cock, seating himself on it, circling his hips.

“Holy shit, you feel so good,” Stiles pants, lifting up and slamming back down, doing that a few times until he starts a rhythm.

Derek thrusts his hips up, matching Stiles’ rhythm and pace, sliding his hands up the wide expanse of Stiles’ abdomen, gripping Stiles’ hips.

Stiles takes one of Derek’s hands bringing it up to his neck, holding it there, riding Derek harder.

“Like when you touch me.” Stiles tips his head back, gasping when he feels Derek hitting deeper. Eventually, he’ll have to stop, but right now, Stiles never wants it to.

Derek lies there drinking Stiles in, letting him set the pace, only going harder and faster when Stiles does, letting Stiles take what he wants, but Derek wants to give it, wants to give Stiles everything.

Stiles grinds his hips down fucking himself harder on Derek’s cock, and each thrust Derek gives hits just right, but he wants it harder.

“Harder, Derek.” Stiles bounces a little, bringing Derek’s hand to his mouth, sucking on Derek’s thumb. “Yes, yes, _right there_ ,” Stiles moans around his finger.

Derek sits up, cupping Stiles’ cheek as Stiles keeps sucking on his thumb.

“Right here?” Derek whispers, sliding his thumb out of Stiles’ mouth, kissing him messily.

Stiles nods fast, panting against Derek’s mouth, lips clumsy as he kisses Derek back, wrapping his arms around Derek, hanging on as Derek fucks into him with slow, deep thrusts.

“Lemme see you.” Derek kisses Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles whimpers, pulling back, locking his eyes with Derek’s, holding his gaze as they move together, eyes fluttering closed when Derek holds his face in his hands.

“Close.” Derek nips Stiles’ chin. “Close, Stiles.”

“Uh huh.” Stiles licks his lips, “Don’t stop, Derek.”

Stiles opens his eyes, vision hazy, but Derek’s right here, right here deep inside Stiles, and he feels so fucking good. Stiles feels drunk, body weightless as he clings to Derek, bringing one of Derek’s hands to his aching cock.

“Touch me,” Stiles whispers, licking Derek’s mouth, biting down on his lower lip, tugging hard.

Derek growls, mouth surging into Stiles’, kissing him hungrily and jerking Stiles fast.

Stiles bounces harder on Derek’s cock, grinding his hips down, and when he feels himself getting closer to release he pushes on Derek’s chest. Derek catches on quickly, lying back down, still stroking Stiles’ cock. Stiles groans loudly, leaning back on Derek’s thighs, fingernails digging into flesh, hips undulating, rocking himself into one of the most intense orgasms of his life.

Derek watches Stiles come, and if it weren’t for his cock buried deep inside Stiles, Derek would think someone else was making Stiles come.

Stiles practically sobs through his orgasm, body spasming, knees digging into Derek’s sides, clenching around Derek as he slowly rides him, squeezing Derek’s thighs.

Derek’s hand slowly strokes Stiles’ cock, little blurts of come beading at the tip, but his belly and chest are streaked with it, and he drags a finger through the mess, before sucking it off.

“Hey,” Stiles says hoarsely, biting his lip as he clenches on Derek’s cock. “Not done yet.”

Derek licks his lips, eyelids fluttering.

“Where… where do you want me to come?”

“Roll over,” Stiles tells him. “Pull out first, even though I really don’t want you to.”

Derek laughs, groaning at the loss of Stiles’ tight ass, and then hissing when the cool air hits his sensitive cock. Stiles rolls the condom off with deft fingers, tying it off and tossing it in the trash.

When Derek rolls over, Stiles has a hand around Derek’s cock and his own.

“You still close?” Stiles asks.

“Oh yeah,” Derek croaks and he starts thrusting, Stiles’ graceful fingers holding onto them both. He lets Derek take the lead and Derek’s grateful because he’s almost there.

“Yeah, that’s it, come on, Derek,” Stiles coaxes, leaning up and kissing him.

Derek makes a strangled noise when he finally comes, hands fisting in the blankets around them. Now it’s just his cock Stiles is holding, and Derek keeps thrusting into Stiles’ hand. Derek watches a streak of come hit Stiles’ cock, licking his lips.

With one last thrust, Derek finally collapses on top of Stiles, making sure he doesn’t squish him too much. They lie there sprawled out, both of them quiet as they catch their breaths.

Stiles is petting Derek’s hair when he feels Derek shifting around, eyes opening slowly and smiling when he feels his lips on his cheek.

“Pretty sure that was the best sex I’ve ever had,” Stiles grins.

Derek bumps his nose against Stiles’, grinning back at him.

“Ten out of ten. Will _definitely_ be doing that again.”

Stiles bursts out laughing. “You’re an adorable dork.”

“I love you,” Derek nuzzles into Stiles’ cheek.

“I love you more,” Stiles smiles, perfectly content for the first time in a long time.

*

They fight, they argue, and sometimes, if they’re angry enough they fuck it out -- Stiles holding Derek down or Derek holding Stiles down. But it works, in a weird way. After, when they’re completely relaxed, they talk it all out. Sex doesn’t fix everything and they both know that, and they know they still have kinks to work out between them, but they’re working toward a trusting, stable relationship.

Christmas catches them off guard.

Stiles is stressed out with his deadline approaching, and Derek has only given him half an interview, but to be fair they were both distracted. And Derek wouldn’t stop kneading his foot on Stiles’ groin.

Derek and Erica are working overtime at the shop, so naturally when Derek comes home his nerves are completely shot.

“She was so fucking angry that we didn’t have this book, like it’s my fault!” Derek complains, stabbing his chicken.

“Well, don’t take it out on the chicken,” Stiles chuckles. “Sorry you had another rough day.”

“Yeah, well, it’s Christmas,” Derek sighs. “Tell me about your day.”

“The usual,” Stiles shrugs. “Darren, my boss, is waiting for the, uh, rest of my article.”

Derek groans. “Fuck, Stiles, I’m sorry. I know you need the rest of my interview. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Derek.” Stiles leans over the table kissing him on the cheek. “Oh! Allison invited everyone to her parent’s ranch for a Christmas Eve party.”

“That should be fun. I haven’t seen her parents in a long time.”

“They won’t be there. Her mom has family in France that she hasn’t seen in years, but Allison doesn’t want to go, so they said she could use the ranch for a party.”

“That’s very nice of them. Who’d you get for Secret Santa this year?” Derek asks, taking a sip of wine.

“Telling you who I got for Secret Santa defeats the entire purpose of Secret Santa.”

Secret Santa was Cora’s brilliant idea back in eleventh grade, and then when Erica came into the fold, it got a lot more competitive, because Cora, Allison, and Erica always compete to see who gives the best present. (“That’s not what Secret Santa is about!” “Don’t be such a pussy, Scott,” Erica said.)

“You told me back in your senior year,” Derek says thoughtfully.

“Your sister is impossible to shop for. Nine times out of ten she ends up returning the gift for something better,” Stiles says. “Scott’s still mad he wasted forty bucks on that snow cone machine.”

“It was a snow cone machine, Stiles. _A snow cone machine_.”

Stiles rolls his eyes laughing.

“Anyway, I’m not telling you who my Secret Santa is. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

“I think it’ll be interesting this year now that Allison got your dad and Scott’s mom in on it.” Derek pauses for a moment, thinking. “Or it could be the worst decision ever.”

“Don’t forget Isaac,” Stiles smirks.

“I really hope Isaac got Cora,” Derek laughs, “She’s got it bad for him.”

They finish eating and wash dishes together, and Stiles still can’t get over how domestic he and Derek have become. Stiles decided that Derek’s bed was a lot more comfortable, and bigger, so he no longer goes to sleep and wakes up alone in his room. Instead, he falls asleep in Derek’s warm, safe embrace, and sometimes he wakes up with Derek’s mouth wrapped around his cock.

Stiles has never been happier in his life.

“Ditto,” Derek agrees, kissing Stiles until he’s dizzy.

**

Stiles is making notes on what he has recorded of Derek’s interview when Derek breezes in, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Are you -- what… what’s happening?” Stiles stares at Derek, who’s getting undressed right in front of him.

Derek kicks off his shoes and almost falls over pulling his socks off, tugging down his jeans and kicking them across the apartment.

“I really, really want you to fuck me right now.”

“Right now?” Stiles swallows.

“Right now.”

Derek pulls off his sweater followed by his Henley, standing before Stiles wearing only his briefs now, snapping the waistband.

“Go get a condom.”

“Lube?” Stiles licks lips, eyes looking Derek up and down slowly.

“If you need it,” Derek says with a grin. “I fingered myself at work. Twice.” He walks over to Stiles, leaning down and kissing him deeply.

“Holy fuck,” Stiles pulls away, lips shiny, licking them quickly.

Derek slides his briefs off his hips, and he barely has to push them down before they pool around his feet, stepping out of them.

Stiles scrambles to his feet, running to Derek’s bathroom to find a condom. When he gets back, teeth tearing into the foil, Derek is already bent over their tiny table, stroking his cock.

“Jesus Christ, Derek,” Stiles says awed, standing behind him.

“Come _on_ , Stiles. What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m…” Stiles hisses, fingers slick as he lubes his cock up, “I’m getting there.”

“Stiles, I fingered myself twice, and I broke the speed limit getting home.”

“Oh fuck, Derek, okay… okay… just…”

Derek arches his back, pushing his ass out more, looking at Stiles over his shoulder.

Stiles groans, rolling on the condom, one hand gripping Derek’s shoulder while the other guides himself to Derek’s hole, pushing in slowly making them both moan.

“Shit, Stiles, come on.” Derek reaches back to grip Stiles’ hip.

Stiles eases Derek down so that his chest is flush against the table, spreading Derek’s ass open, watching his cock moving in and out, squirting a little bit of lube on his cock before thrusting back in.

Derek positions himself like he’s in the middle of doing push-ups, fucking himself on Stiles’ cock, needing him deeper. And it’s like Stiles knows exactly what Derek needs because he’s fucking him deeper now making Derek whine, clenching around Stiles.

Stiles grits his teeth, fingers leaving bruises on Derek’s hips, his own hips snapping against Derek’s ass, the sharp slap of skin echoing in the air. The heat kicks on and now Stiles is sweating, and he’s fucking Derek so hard the table creaks under them.

“Right there, Stiles, right there. Don’t stop, don’t stop,” Derek whines, stripping his cock fast.

Stiles pulls all the way out and slips off the condom, thrusting his cock between Derek’s thighs, head tipped back, sweat dripping in his eyes.

Derek’s knees buckle when he starts coming, wrist cramping, thighs burning where Stiles keeps thrusting, and then he feels something warm and wet hitting his thighs, Stiles whispering I love you over and over in his ear.

Stiles turns Derek’s face to his, kissing him hard. After a few minutes, he finally stops to catch his breath, panting against Derek’s cheek, wrapping an arm around Derek, squeezing him.

Derek grips Stiles’ forearm, nosing at his cheek, getting Stiles to kiss him again.

“Hungry?” Stiles asks.

“Starving,” Derek grins.

Later on, tucked in bed with Derek, Stiles gets the rest of his interview. He’s got the recorder perched on Derek’s chest as he reads off the last few questions.

“Last question,” Stiles yawns, rubbing his eye, “If you could tell your past self one thing, what would it be, and why?”

“Don’t worry about that shitty blowjob you got in eighth grade, because your future boyfriend will blow your brains out making you snap your glasses in half.”

“ _Der_ ek,” Stiles complains as he buries his face in a pillow, laughing hard. “Be serious!”

“I am completely serious, also, still mad I don’t have time to get a new pair.”

“Why were you wearing them in bed anyway?”

“I was grading papers, Stiles!”

“You know what your whole,” Stiles waves a hand at all of Derek, “teacher thing does to me.”

“Clearly, because you made me break my glasses.”

“Okay, come on, answer this one and then spoon me. I need to be spooned.”

Derek rolls his eyes, carding his fingers through Stiles’ hair, taking a deep breath before answering.

“I know you think he doesn’t like you,” Derek hears Stiles’ soft intake of breath, but he keeps going. “You’re probably still hung up on that stupid argument you guys had about him dating and not having any clue what he wants at sixteen. And I know you’re mad because you want it to be you that he thinks about like that.” Derek reaches down, twining his fingers with Stiles’ squeezing. “But eventually you’ll have a home with him, and he’ll love you. You just have to wait.”

Stiles turns over on his stomach, eyes brimming with tears. He ignores the recorder, scooting up to give Derek a kiss, knowing the recorder is still going, but he honestly doesn’t care.

“I’m glad you waited for me,” Stiles sniffs, smiling and kissing Derek again.

“With a few bumps in the road, you found your way,” Derek grins.

Stiles stops the recorder, leaning over Derek to put it on the nightstand, and then he remembers something Derek said earlier.

“You called me your boyfriend,” Stiles says.

Derek rubs a hand up and down Stiles’ back, cupping the back of Stiles’ neck bringing him down for a kiss.

“Maybe I should have officially asked you.” Derek gives him another kiss, grinning like an idiot in love. “Stiles, will you _not_ be my fake boyfriend anymore?”

Stiles rolls over, hugging Derek close, taking all his weight.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

*

There’s a sprinkle of snow on the ground when Stiles and Derek wake up on Christmas Eve. Stiles is so elated that he jumps around the apartment for ten minutes, because that’s how long it takes Derek to brew the coffee.

Stiles throws his arms around Derek, mouth tasting sour because he still hasn’t brushed his teeth, but he kisses Derek anyway.

“It snowed last night, and I love you, and you made coffee. And I love you.”

“It’s also Christmas Eve,” Derek says, “and I’m all yours until January 2nd.”

“You’re all mine for ten whole days,” Stiles sighs happily.

“We can have sex all day tomorrow.”

“As long as we break for food,” Stiles says seriously. “But yes,” he moans when he kisses Derek, grinning. “All day Christmas sex.”

Derek cups Stiles’ face kissing him, sucking on his bottom lip, hands moving down to squeeze Stiles’ ass.

“ _Oh_ ,” Stiles gasps against Derek’s mouth, biting his lower lip. “No, Derek. We can’t get distracted, we have too much to do today.”

Derek nips Stiles’ chin, peppering kisses down his neck.

“I promised Erica I’d bake brownies for the party,” Stiles groans, tipping his head back for Derek.

“Mmhm,” Derek murmurs, already sucking a bruise on Stiles’ neck.

“Brownies,” Stiles gasps, gripping a hand in Derek’s hair. “And… gotta give Maggie her gift… _Derek._ ”

Derek backs Stiles up against the counter, dropping to his knees, tugging Stiles’ pajama bottoms down. Stiles’ cock springs out making Derek lick his lips, hands gripping Stiles’ ass, taking Stiles right into his mouth.

“I hate you so much, oh god.” Stiles cups the back of Derek’s head with both hands, not guiding him but just touching. He loves that Derek likes doing this, distracting Stiles with his skilled, clever mouth, willing to stop whatever they’re doing to blow him.

Soon enough Derek’s mouth gets the better of Stiles, one hand gripping the edge of the counter, his other hand trying to find purchase on one of the cabinets above his head. The only reason he hasn’t fallen down is that Derek’s hands are still holding on-to his ass, head bobbing up and down, mouth relentless as he sucks. Stiles can hear _everything_ , and just thinking about how wet Derek’s mouth must be right now has his thighs shaking.

Derek brings a hand around to stroke Stiles’ cock, parting his lips, waiting for Stiles to come.

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, breath punching out of his lungs, snapping his eyes open long enough to watch his come hit Derek’s tongue. Some of it slides down Derek’s throat, and then Stiles is watching Derek swallow, and he thinks he could come again.

Derek wipes his mouth, pulling Stiles’ pants back up as he stands.

“You make brownies and I’ll do laundry.”

Stiles exhales loudly, staring at Derek, shrugging with a nod.

“Yeah, okay.”

Derek pecks him on the mouth, smirking.

“Good morning, by the way.”

**

Stiles is washing dishes when Derek walks back in with the last load of laundry.

“All done?” Stiles asks, wiping his hands.

“Four loads of laundry all done,” Derek sets down the basket, collapsing into a chair. “Passed the time playing Go Fish with Isaac.”

“Look at you being neighborly,” Stiles places a hand on his chest. “I’m so proud.”

“Shut up,” Derek laughs. “You finish the brownies?”

“Last batch is almost done.” Stiles sits down, stretching his legs out. “I hope four batches is enough.”

“You baked four batches of brownies in two and a half hours?”

“I would’ve done six but I ran out of frosting.”

“Did you eat any of it?”

“I can’t believe you’d think I’d -- Yeah, yeah I did.”

Derek shakes his head laughing.

“We have to leave by at least four if we want to get there… not late,” Stiles says, “I’m pretty sure we’ll have to make one bathroom stop.”

Derek nods. “We should probably give Maggie her gift now.”

“I hope she likes it, or you know, doesn’t already have a stained glass lamp with a unicorn on it.” Stiles brings the box out of his room setting it on the table. “I forgot to wrap it, shit.”

“She won’t care, and if her unicorn shrine is anything to go by, she will absolutely love it.”

Derek was right, because when they present the box to Maggie she nearly cries, hugging both them tight to her ample bosom. Derek mouths _told you so_ over her head at Stiles, who can’t help but hug Maggie in return. Christmas spirit and all.

“You boys are just so sweet to do this.” Maggie wipes her eyes, patting their cheeks. “I’m so happy for you two.”

Stiles’ face wrinkles in confusion, glancing at Derek, who looks equally confused as Stiles does.

“I never would’ve told you two to leave, you know.”

“Maggie,” Stiles says slowly, “What are you talking about?”

“If these walls could talk,” Maggie says knowingly. “Yours certainly do, but none of that matters. Anyway, Merry Christmas, boys.” She kisses them each on the cheek, shooing them off.

“Ma!” Someone yells just as Maggie is shutting the door. “Where’s my shirt with the frog on it? It’s my favorite one!”

“Bobby Finstock, you watch your tone!”

The door slams in Stiles and Derek’s faces, both of them blinking, looking at one another.

“I’ve never ever heard her son speak before, have you?”

Stiles shakes his head no, still staring at the door.

“He sounds terrifying; let’s go.”

By the time they get Derek’s car loaded down with brownies, other provisions, spare clothes in case the weather goes south, and their Secret Santa gifts, they’re already running twenty minutes behind schedule. Stiles is frazzled, to say the least.

“I don’t want to be late.” Stiles fidgets, biting his nails.

“We’re not going to be late,” Derek says, “As long you can hold your bladder, we’ll be good.”

Stiles _can’t_ hold his bladder and they wind up getting to the party forty-five minutes late.

“I’m not walking in there with you _mad at me_ , Stiles.” Derek slams the trunk shut.

“We’re forty-five minutes late!” Stiles yells, stomping towards the house.

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who had to fucking piss after drinking all that coffee this morning and those three energy drinks.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, not hearing Allison and Scott come running down the porch steps.

“We were beginning to get worr--”

“You’re the one who distracted me with sex this morning!”

“Uhh--” Scott backs up, tugging on Allison’s hand. “Allison, _Allison_! Come on.”

“Like you’d ever turn down sex, Stiles!” Derek yells.

Allison levels Stiles and Derek with a fierce look, arms crossed over her chest.

“You’re not coming in here if you can’t behave. Now kiss and make up.”

Stiles and Derek scoff, glaring in opposite directions. Derek eventually takes a peek at Stiles, who is suspiciously inching closer to Derek.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Stiles mumbles.

“I’m not sorry for distracting you with sex,” Derek concedes.

“Apology accepted,” they both say, fumbling around the containers of brownies to kiss each other.

“You two are so sick it hurts to watch,” Scott groans, taking the containers Stiles is holding, giving him a one-armed hug. “Merry Christmas, dude.”

Stiles elbows him in the ribs but returns the hug.

“Merry Christmas, bro.”

“We waited until you guys got here to eat,” Allison says, kissing Derek on the cheek.

“I told you they’d wait,” Stiles tells Derek over his shoulder; Derek rolls his eyes at Allison, laughing.

Dinner is a feast courtesy of Melissa McCall with the help of Allison and Erica.

“I really tried,” Cora says, “But I burned the first batch of mashed potatoes, so Melissa kicked me out of the kitchen.”

A quiet, calm settles over the party as everyone enjoys the food. Stiles looks across the table at Derek every so often, nudging his foot against Derek’s, who smiles at Stiles, nudging back. If certain parties notice their not-so-sneaky-exchange no one says anything. After dinner, before the Secret Santa exchange, Allison tells everyone she has a surprise for them.

“Keep enjoying your dessert,” she says, waving her hands. “I need to grab my laptop.”

When Allison comes back out, the face of Lydia Martin is on the laptop screen, bright red lips shining as she waves at everyone.

“Merry Christmas!” she trills excitedly, laughing when they all crowd around Allison’s laptop. “Please, one at a time, my goodness.”

Before all is said and done, it’s only Stiles and Derek talking to Lydia, a clever smile curling over her mouth.

“It’s about damn time,” she says, eyes twinkling. “I miss all of you so much. I promise I’ll visit soon.”

Stiles touches a finger to the screen, Lydia doing the same thing. He hasn’t seen Lydia in so long that he didn’t realize how much he actually missed her until he saw her.

“Don’t you fucking cry, Stilinski.” Lydia tries to glare, but she’s smiling. “Take care of each other, okay?”

Derek smiles at her, nodding, kissing Stiles’ temple, and hugging him close.

“Ugh, you two are gross,” Lydia jokes.

“Stop hogging Lydia!” Scott yells, shoving between them, beaming at Lydia.

“You had your turn, which you spent telling me about the foot rub Allison gave you. Honestly, I didn’t need to know about that.”

“Okay, okay,” Allison interrupts. “So sorry, Lyds, but it’s Secret Santa time. You know how Erica gets.”

Everyone crowds in the living room upstairs where the couches are bigger and where there’s a fire roaring in the fireplace. It smells like sugar and cinnamon, and to Stiles it smells exactly like home and he cuddles up beside Derek, humming contentedly. Allison and Scott take up the duty of handing out the presents, since they’re hosting the party. Stiles missed out last year, but according to Scott it was mutually agreed upon that Allison and Erica never share the duty again. All the presents are stacked under the massive tree Allison’s parents put up, multicolored lights twinkling, Silver Bells echoing in the air, and there’s an ache in Stiles’ chest because he forgot how much he loved this. Being surrounded by family and friends at Christmas, this year being extra special now that he gets to share it with Derek. Their first Christmas _together_. Stiles smiles thoughtfully, nosing at Derek’s cheek.

“What?” Derek whispers.

“Kiss me,” Stiles whispers back.

Derek leans down giving Stiles a nice, slow kiss, also kissing the tip of Stiles’ nose before pulling away.

“If you guys are done being cuter than the rest of us, we’re going to start,” Allison says loudly, smiling brightly. “First present is -- the sheriff!”

Stiles’ dad is holding a brand new leather wallet with his name etched on it.

“After ten years I think it’s time to retire Old Bessie,” the sheriff says, patting his back pocket. “Thank you to my Secret Santa. I appreciate this.”

“You’re very welcome,” Melissa says, winking.

Scott hands an envelope to Isaac, and Stiles sits up, watching closely.

“Congratulations, Isaac Lahey,” Isaac reads, “the donation in your name for the Beacon Hills Wolf Sanctuary was most graciously appreciated, and because of your donation you’ve been given the opportunity,” he swallows hard, “to adopt a wolf through our sanctuary.”

Isaac looks across the room at Stiles, and Stiles knows that he knows, nodding at him.

“When can I go?” Isaac asks.

“Whenever you want to, man. Your wolf is waiting,” Stiles says.

Scott high fives Isaac, who looks bewildered by the action but high fives Scott back nonetheless.

The presents begin to dwindle, and the only ones left without gifts are Erica, Allison, Cora, and Stiles. Derek won’t let anyone touch the first edition _Moby Dick_ Scott got for him, which surprised even Allison. “I’m just that good,” Scott preened. Stiles told Scott exactly what to get Derek, but that’s their little secret.

Allison holds out a bag to Erica, who eyes her suspiciously. Erica screams when she pulls out the Pink Ladies jacket, and it’s a Christmas miracle when, for the first Secret Santa, she hugs Allison and cries. When it’s Allison’s turn to get her gift, she stares at the plane ticket, confused.

“What is it?” Scott asks tentatively, ready for the worst.

“An open-ended plane ticket to Russia,” she says, looking wide-eyed at Erica. “This is… this is too much. I can’t--”

Erica hugs her again, and Allison covers her mouth laugh-crying, and that’s that.

Scott smiles, digging around under the tree.

“Hey! This is for you, Cora!”

Stiles deflates a little; he was hoping he wouldn’t be last. He glances around at everyone else enjoying their presents, talking about them excitedly. He sighs a little heavily, slumping into the couch.

Derek squeezes Stiles’ knee.

“Gotta save the best for last,” Derek says, trying to sound reassuring.

Stiles nods, folding his arms over his chest watching Cora unwrap her gift.

“Oh my god,” Cora breathes, fingers lightly touching the canvas. “Oh my god, it’s -- you painted the Grand Canyon for me.” She looks at Isaac, hands shaking.

“You have talked about it in many of our conversations,” Isaac tells her. “I’ve never painted anything for anyone before. I like you. Do you like it?”

“I love it,” she smiles, looking back at him. “And -- I like you, too.”

Derek grins at Stiles.

“I was hoping one of them would pick the other.”

“And then there was one,” Allison says holding the very last gift, walking over to Stiles.

“Last year I was last,” Erica says. “Hopefully your gift is better than the assortment of lotions I got,” Erica snorts rolling her eyes at Scott.

Scott shrugs, grinning sheepishly when everyone laughs.

Stiles holds the rectangular box and normally, because he gets giddy about presents, especially Secret Santa, he’ll shake his present to try and guess what it could be. Something tells him not to do that this time judging by the weight of the box. He takes a breath, tugging the ribbon loose that’s wrapped around it, jiggling the top of the box off. Stiles isn’t sure what he was expecting, but the last thing he expects when he pushes aside the tissue paper is an old picture of him and Derek.

He immediately recalls the scene in the picture in his mind: it had been a week since the fire happened, since Derek, Cora, and their mother had lost their entire family in a freak accident. Stiles gave them time to grieve because it wasn’t his place to grieve with them, it was their family, not his. Cora reached out first, and gradually Stiles started coming around again. They were staying with a family friend until the insurance company put through the settlement.

The scene in the picture, though, is a moment Stiles thought he’d only have as a memory. He and Derek had fallen asleep on the couch, Stiles’ head resting on Derek’s shoulder with Derek’s face buried in Stiles’ hair.

Stiles doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels Derek’s arms around him, hears him saying _shh, Stiles, it’s okay_. He holds tight to Derek, trying to will the tears to stop.

Derek pulls back, brushing his thumbs under Stiles’ eyes.

“It’s okay, Stiles, hey, look at me.” Derek lifts Stiles’ chin. “At least tell me these are happy tears.”

Stiles’ throat closes up, shaking his head, and what the fuck, he doesn’t understand why he’s so fucking emotional about this. But some part of him does know, deep down he knows why he’s upset, and he really wants to be alone with Derek right now.

“Derek,” Allison whispers, “My parents’ room is down the hall.”

“Yeah, thanks. Come on, Stiles,” Derek says gently, getting Stiles to his feet.

Stiles nearly runs out of the living room, finding the bedroom fast and he steps inside taking a deep, gasping breath, hugging the picture to his chest.

“Stiles, talk to me,” Derek says, frowning.

“You know… how the saying goes, that if you’re com--comfortable enough to fall asleep with someone, that it’s a sign of, like, trust? Because you’re vulnerable when you’re asleep, you know? You don’t know what might happen to you, but if you -- if you fall asleep with someone, someone you _know_ you trust… you love…” Stiles chokes, eyes welling up again.

Derek is still confused. “Stiles, I don’t--”

“Derek, this is… I think some part of me knew that I loved you, here.” Stiles looks at the picture again, hugging it tighter. “I woke up and you were still asleep, and I was so embarrassed. I thought you were going to wake up and shove me away, telling me to stop drooling on you. ‘Cause I did drool on you a little, but that’s--” Stiles waves a hand trying to get to the point. “You were still asleep, but you… you sort of pressed closer to me, and it was… it felt perfect.”

“I don’t really remember much, but I do remember waking up and asking you--”

“You asked me to stay,” Stiles finishes, looking at the picture. “Who took this anyway?”

“My mom.”

Stiles is still holding the framed picture when he throws his arms around Derek, kissing him breathless, slumping in Derek’s arms, nipping at Derek’s mouth greedy for another kiss. They kiss until air becomes necessary, gasping when they break apart.

“I knew then that I loved you, Derek. That moment. I took a wrong turn somewhere, but I found my way back to you; but, then? I knew I loved you.”

Derek laughs unexpectedly, rubbing his face.

“What? What is it?”

“It’s just.” Derek takes the picture out of Stiles’ hands setting it down on the bed. “That day was the last time I cried. I haven’t cried since that day. I don’t know, I’d just had a bad day. I was missing Laura so bad, and you walked out of the room where Cora was sleeping, and you -- you looked at me and do you remember what you said?”

“I think I jokingly said something like, ‘hey man, you wanna cuddle?’” Stiles snorts, squeezing Derek’s hands. “Why?”

“That’s it, that’s what you said,” Derek laughs, kissing Stiles’ knuckles, taking a deep breath. “I knew I loved you, too.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles buries his face in Derek’s neck. “We are officially the sappiest people ever.”

“I don’t care, I love you so much, Stiles.”

“I love you more. Fuck, Derek, I love you so fucking much.”

They’re being yelled at by Cora and Erica to have cookies and eggnog; more like Erica yells at them to stop crying like a bunch of wimps and, in her words, _eat some goddamn cookies_. Derek tells Stiles he’ll be out in a minute, that he needs to make a phone call.

“Loup,” Talia Hale says over the receiver, voice warm in Derek’s ear. “Did you give it to him yet?”

“Yeah, Mom. I didn’t think he’d stop crying.”

“It was one of the first pictures taken before the fire. I’m glad we were able to give it to him.”

“Thank you, Mom.”

“Merry Christmas, Loup. See you both next month?”

“Definitely. Stiles can’t wait to see you, it’s been so long.”

“Now, get off the phone and kiss him senseless under the mistletoe.”

And Derek does kiss Stiles senseless right under the mistletoe, just as it starts to snow.

It’s close to midnight by the time everyone starts cleaning up to leave. Stiles fell asleep during cookies and eggnog, Derek covering him with a blanket, fingers carding through Stiles’ hair as he slept.

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey,” Derek whispers in Stiles’ ear, kissing his neck.

“Mmm, bacon?” Stiles slurs sleepily, smiling. Derek’s face swims above him and Stiles has to blink a few more times to clear his vision.

“That’s my son, always thinking about food,” the sheriff grins down at Stiles. “Heading out, kid. Us old people need our sleep.”

Melissa glares at him, walking to the front door.

“You okay to drive?” Stiles sits up rubbing his eyes.

“Mel and I are going to drive in shifts.”

Stiles hugs his dad for a long time, until Melissa starts honking, mouthing sorry and making a need-to-sleep-position with her hands.

“I’ll see you and Derek tomorrow, well, later today?”  
“Of course.”

Stiles hugs him again, letting his dad give him a kiss on the forehead, shoving him away playfully.

“Drive safe.”

“Always do, kid.”

Stiles catches a snatch of conversation, glancing over to see Derek hugging Cora.

“--Staying here for the night,” Cora says. “Isaac doesn’t like night driving.”

Derek arches an eyebrow at Cora, glancing at Isaac who’s standing nearby, fiddling with a button on his sweater.

“You like him a lot, don’t you?”

“I really do.” Cora blushes. “I mean, yeah, he’s totally weird, but I like his weird.”

“Thank you,” Isaac says, looking at Cora. “I am weird, but I don’t really care,” he says looking at Derek.

Derek chuckles, patting Isaac on the back.

Stiles walks over, wrapping an arm around Derek, kissing his cheek, and squeezing Derek’s arm where it’s wrapped around his own waist.

“Well, hey, you guys might officially be cuter than me and Derek.”

Just then, Boyd comes walking out, Erica riding piggy back, snoring softly.

“Merry Christmas, you guys. This was a blast,” he says, waving one of Erica’s hands at them.

“Eggnog really knocks her out cold,” Stiles laughs, “No wonder Allison gives her more than everyone else.”

“Boyd was grateful when Allison shared her secret,” Derek smirks.

“Even happier when I told him about the local market that sells eggnog year round,” Allison says, stepping out on the porch with Scott. “You guys heading off, too?”

Stiles nods.

“We have, uh, big Christmas morning plans.”

“I’ll go and get our things,” Derek says rolling his eyes, but he’s still laughing.

Allison walks over to chat with Cora and Isaac, while Scott and Stiles stand there, shoulder to shoulder, smiling at each other.

“I’m, uh,” Scott clears his throat. “I’m really glad you’re back. I don’t think I ever told you that.”

“So am I,” Stiles say, nudging Scott’s shoulder. “You okay, man?”

“Yeah, I just, you know, I wasn’t sure… if you’d be leaving.”

And then Stiles realizes what Scott’s trying to say: Stiles did, in the past, tend to leave a lot. He only came home a few times during college, and then he spent seven months in Europe. No one knew for sure, Stiles included, if he would ever come back to Beacon Hills.

“I think I’m fine right where I’m at,” Stiles says, throwing an arm around Scott’s neck. “Here with my family.”

Scott hugs Stiles tight for a few minutes.

“Are you happy?” Scott asks when they pull away.

Stiles smiles at Scott fondly, and then looks at Derek when he comes walking back out, and Derek smiles back at Stiles, winking at him.

“I couldn’t be happier.”

*

It’s ten in the morning on New Year’s Day, and there’s a brown envelope under the front door when Stiles wakes up. He claps his hands as quietly as he can, knowing immediately what’s inside. He carefully opens it and there’s his article, with a note from Darren saying: _Here it is! Goes out Friday, but I figured I’d let you have an exclusive first look. You did great, Stiles. Can’t wait to see what you do next._

Stiles’ face hurts from smiling so hard, reading the bold headline over and over: **A Town Full of Wonder: A Behind-The-Scenes Look at Beacon Hills.**

He skims the paper, wondering what the other writers did their stories on, happy to see that Krista did a piece on Minnie’s Diner. Stiles’ story is on page five and he grins at the black and white picture of Derek and Erica a few months after Nose in A Book opened.

Stiles runs back into the bedroom, jumping on the bed and landing right on top of Derek.  
“What the-- Stiles, I’m trying to sleep,” Derek grumbles trying to turn over.

“No!” Stiles protests, sitting down firmly on Derek’s lap. “Darren dropped off my article, and I’m going to read it to you.”

Derek groans, throwing an arm over his face.

Stiles wiggles around until Derek’s peeking at him from under his arm, glancing down at his lap.

“ _Later_ ,” Stiles says with a wink. “Now! Story time.”

Stiles begins reading, holding Derek’s hand.

“You might not think much of Nose in A Book upon first glance, but this hometown shop has been around since 1928, when it was first established as a schoolhouse. It wasn’t until 1955 that local resident and former owner of Nose in A Book, William Gregory, turned it into what is now a first-class Beacon Hills staple.”

“I wouldn’t call it first-class, but that’s a great opening,” Derek smiles. “I’m really proud of you, Stiles.”

“Those were Mrs. Sanderson’s words, not mine.”

Derek blushes a little and Stiles doesn’t miss how he looks proud of himself and his bookshop.

Stiles keeps going, reading each word with a smile on his face, and a warmth in his chest. His fingers twine loosely with Derek’s now, thumb brushing across Derek’s wrist, still reading, and Derek still listening.

“Of course she’d say that,” Derek snorts when Stiles reads a small bit he used from Erica’s interview: “I hired myself, and Derek, and the town of Beacon Hills will forever be in my debt.”

“That was Darren’s favorite part,” Stiles laughs, “He told me not to take it out.”

When Stiles gets to the final paragraph, he stops, holding out the paper to Derek.

“You finish it,” Stiles says, lying down beside Derek, burrowing against him for warmth.

Derek puts on his glasses, wrapping an arm around Stiles, their fingers linking together.

“We often find ourselves wanting to travel the world, to see what else is out there, but sometimes you have to leave to find your way back to the place you call home.” Derek pauses for a minute, swallowing back a lump of emotion. “When I asked Mr. Hale what home for him was, he smiled and said, ‘Home is whenever you’re with the person you love.’ The residents of Beacon Hills seem to have found another home with Nose in A Book, and that’s reason enough to keep coming back.”

“What do you think, Mr. Hale?” Stiles asks.

“It’s perfect, Stiles,” Derek clears his throat.

Stiles wipes away Derek’s tears, lips brushing his, kissing him slowly and smiling.

“You’re amazing,” Derek whispers, wrapping both arms around Stiles.

Stiles bumps his nose with Derek’s and they kiss a few more times, and it is exactly how he wants to spend each and every morning with Derek. And he smiles, because he knows he will.

“Are you home, Stiles?”

“I’m with you,” Stiles says, kissing the place where Derek’s heart is. “Yes, I am home.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Give Me Love_ by Ed Sheeran.
> 
> I was apprehensive to tag this is a Spaced AU, because it isn't technically a crossover/fusion, but I did draw inspiration from the series, hence, 'professional couple only'. I wanted this to be mostly my own creation. :) Isaac is _totally_ Brian.
> 
> I didn't make a good judgment call on the one punch Stiles throws at Derek. I know _any kind_ of domestic violence can be triggering for people, so I apologize for not tagging for that from the get-go. There is only one time anyone in my fic is hit, and again, I should have tagged it from the get-go and I didn't. I never want to trigger anyone, and in the future I'll make sure to tag appropriately.
> 
> And, yes, credit to Wikipedia for the information on the triskele.


End file.
